


Came For The Spark, Stayed For The Flame

by orphan_account



Series: Came For The Spark, Stayed For The Flame [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Rivalry, Alpha Scott McCall, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Blood Magic, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, First Kiss, Full Moon, Happy Ending, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Character Death, Nemeton, Night Terrors, Original Character Death(s), Pack Bonding, Profound Bond, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Tattooed Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek felt the panic build up in his chest as Jezebel held out a hand. He smelled it before he saw it, because who could forget the scent of what destroyed your life? Fire and spark and smoke curled from Jezebel's hands, and the wood stacked at Stiles' feet flared up.</p><p>When Stiles and Derek get bonded as Emissary-and-Alpha, hidden attractions become a lot harder to hide, secrets are kept and secrets are surfaced, and an evil teenage girl is planning even more ritualistic sacrifice. Canon divergence from the end of 3a.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ascension

**Author's Note:**

> Grammar is New Zealand English. I really liked the idea of Emissary!Stiles, and I hope it becomes canon. This story is canon-compliant up to the last episode of season 3a. Reminder that all the characters and setting and blah blah blah are property of Teen Wolf or something, so don't sue me, because I don't have job stability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Maxwell? I don't remember. I really should listen to these songs before I name chapters after them.

His hand ghosted upon the hard, cracked groove of the stump. His middle finger brushed it gently, the tiniest pressure, and then he felt it. A sudden, hollow, emptiness, spreading around that place in his chest, drawing a surprised and slightly-terrified gasp from his lips.

 

Stiles had touched the stump, which must've, disappointingly, been the Nemeton, his hand pressed flat against it, feeling the thrum of power wrapping around the darkness in his heart, the darkness that Deaton had warned him about.

And then he was suddenly in the woods, soaked, cold, and completely confused. That is, until he heard Scott. “Are we seriously doing this?”

He immediately turned to find him, his eyes searching in the dark, prepared to shoot out a sarcastic comment about how Deaton got his druidy-powers muddled, and has now lost his enigma and mystery as a result, when he heard it.

“You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” That was him. He remembers saying that, specifically. He could never forget anything about that night.

“Well, I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practise tomorrow,” Scott replied. To young-Stiles. To buzzcut-Stiles.

The energy that had wrapped around the darkness hummed, almost like it was pleased.

Stiles was focusing so much on that, on the thrumming in his chest and the nostalgia, the deja vu, that he missed the rest of the exchange between past-him and Scott, though he had memorised it.

And then he heard the harsh barking of one of his father's police dogs. He winced at past-Stiles' high-pitched squeak of terror.

His father's comforting, hoarse voice shocked Stiles into realising why he was there in the first place. He took a few steps back, away from his Dad, before he rushed forward and hugged him, because that would just freak past-Stiles and past-Dad out.

And his hip jutted into something hard. Stiles spun around and saw a stump, the one in the white room, the nemeton. The humming in his chest pushed out, and he laid both hands on it, his heart beating loud and fast in his ears. The nemeton was showing him where it was, by making him relive a memory.

 

Stiles woke up with a gasp, his lungs desperate for air, greedy for it, but there was only one thing on his mind. The power that he felt, that had latched onto him once he'd touched the stump, urged him, pushed him.

“My Alpha,” he gasped out as he stood from the icy water.

He could hear Scott and Allison gasping and flailing around the water, struggling to their feet, but they hadn't heard Stiles. Lydia was frowning at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, and she looked terrifed. And relieved.

Then Scott started babbling, and Stiles' outburst was forgotten when they figured out where the nemeton was. And that they'd been “dead” for sixteen hours. And Stiles couldn't ignore the itch to find an Alpha, which was confusing, since he wasn't a beta or anything.

 

 

Derek's claws had unsheathed before he even new what he was doing, and his arm came up and slashed forward in a deadly arc. He could hear the slicing of flesh and the smell the metallic tang of blood, and then there was a body, slumping down, hitting the ground with a thud, the victim's roar dying before it had escaped.

And then he flet that incredible rush of power, familiar but no less surprising. It flowed through his veins assertively, filling him with a confident buzz. But this time was different, with Deucalion's body instead of Peter's lying at his feet. There was another tendril of... something. Grounding, binding him. It felt like it was connecting him to the town, to Beacon Hills, which he had never gotten with Peter. He put it down to the fact that he'd just stolen Alphahood from the Alpha of Alphas.

The reality was infintely more confusing and disconcerting.

Derek snapped his head towards Scott, who was struggling to his feet, staring at Derek with a mix of confusion and fear, his gold eyes flashing.

“Derek?” Jennifer called out from her mountain ash circle.

Derek turned to her and scowled. “Call the storm off.”

Jennifer smirked. “I don't think I will.”

“He's dead. You don't need the power anymore.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile, the one that he'd found so endearing, so attractive and sweet. “I don't know, Derek. It seems a waste, giving up on all that power, when I could be so much more than I am.”

Scott growled and started towards her. “Let them go.” He walked up until he was at the dge of the ash circle, and held his hands up. Jennifer caught on to his intentions quicker than Derek.

“You've tried this before, Scott,” she said with a sneer. “I don't remember you having much success.”

Scott ignored her and pressed his hands forward, the barrier resisting him with a flare of blue. He growled with exertion, pressing deeper and deeper, the barrier pushing back forcefully. It wasn't going to work.

But then he started moving, inching forward, and Jennifer's sneer disappeared. Derek's wolf told him, warned him, that something was happening. He had to pay attention, because it was going to change everything, even as his human side denied what was happening.

Scott wasn't facing him, but Derek knew when it happened. Jennifer's gasp would've been enough, but his wolf reared at the sudden strike of power. That tingle in the back of his neck, the itch of his instincts told him. Scott had Ascended.

He took one last step, and the circle broke abruptly. Jennifer fell back and edged to the other side of the circle, away from Scott, her face a picture of disbelief.

“How did you do that?” she gasped out.

Scott regarded her with his trademark brooding stare. “I'm an Alpha now,” he replied, and Derek could feel the weight of his words. His own power scrambled to challenge Scott, an enemy Alpha. But he squashed it down, because this was _Scott_.

“Whatever you're doing the cause of the storm, make it stop. Or I'll kill you myself. I don't care what it does to the colour of my eyes.”

Jennifer's expression turned sour, her fear forgotten in the face of a threat. She stood up and rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck. “If all that power could stop a demon wolf, it can stop a True Alpha, Scott,” she spat.

She clenched her fists and flashed her eyes at Scott, and Derek could feel the force of her power. It was stronger than Scott's newly-discovered Alpha-powers, and she was about three seconds away from bringing that basement - _that damned basement_ \- down on Scott, Allison, and Stiles' parents.

Derek couldn't let that happen. She'd be a hundred times harder to deal with if she finishes her sacrifices.

So he surged forward, his claws flashings, diving for her stomach and ripping upwards, hearing the tear of fabric and feeling the skin give through, the blood rush out and splatter onto Derek's shirt.

 

Derek could feel that earthly pull again, after the adrenaline had dissolved away. It was annoying him, and worrying him. He'd lost his Alphahood this morning, and gained it again, but stranger. He'd only ever felt this way when he was near Deaton, and never that intense.

Scott was at his side, looking over him with concern, checking for injury.

But when Scott's eyes reached Derek's, they flashed red, and Derek could tell his had flashed back.

Scott stepped back immediately, and Derek could feel the air between them as a rift. It didn't feel right, because no matter what, he and Scott were like _brothers_. They weren't enemies, even when they were.

Scott called Stiles, avoiding Derek's gaze, and Derek could hear everyone's nervous, hysterical laughter. They hadn't died, the basement hadn't collapsed on them.

 

 

Stiles heard Scott call out. “Guys?”

His best friend appeared at the top of the stairs, and then stopped. “Mum!”

Melissa rushed forward, took Scott's outstretched hand. He pulled her up and enveloped her in a hug.

“Hey,” Stiles called out. “Hug time later, huh? Imminent danger, here. This thing could still come down around us.”

Scott pulled away from his mother and grinned, and then someone else walked down the steps, and Stiles' breath caught.

The pull he'd felt, that breathlessness that no one had noticed when they'd been holding up the roof and trying to save their asses from being squished to death. The pull, he was feeling it. It rushed at him, and he jumped to his feet, his eyes widening as he realised who was coming down behind Scott.

It was Derek.

 

 

Derek stared at Stiles, who was staring at him with confusion, and awe. He was sure that his face looked the same, because that grounding force? The balancing power that tugged at him? It was radiating from Stiles.

Which didn't make sense. Stiles was... _Stiles_. Awkward, gangly, flailing, ADHD Stiles. He would never have such a strong magical pull.

Scott frowned at Derek, and then at Stiles, noticing the way they were staring at each other.

Scott was about to open his mouth when Isaac cleared his throat. “ _Scott?_ ”

Derek broke his staring contest with Stiles and shook his head, then reached a hand to Chris, who was the closest to him. Scott pulled Stiles up, and then Stiles was right beside him, rigid, silent, tense. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, and Derek could tell he wanted to turn around to face him, but he stayed by Scott's side and helped his father up, and then led him up the stairs.

Stiles paused at the top. “I don't suppose anyone drove here?”

Derek frowned. “What about the jeep?”

Stiles didn't look at him. “I crashed it.” His father groaned, and Stiles pushed him out of the basement, a stream of protests and excuses following him.

And Derek ignored the instinct to go after him.

 

Derek had insisted that they all go to Deaton's, to look at Scott (and Stiles was amazed and psyched to hear that his best friend was an Alpha), but since that didn't require Stiles' presence, he refused.

And then he reconsidered, because maybe Deaton could figure out why his chest hummed insistently whenever Derek neared him.

So he reluctantly tagged along in an awkward car ride with Isaac, Scott, and Derek.

Awkward, because of the tension between Derek and Scott, both being Alphas. Awkward, because as much as Stiles didn't want to look at Derek, he could tell Derek was trying not to look at him, too. And Isaac was silent, looking between his Alpha and Scott, as if trying to figure something out.

Stiles cleared his throat. “So... uh, every problem that has risen is take care of?”

Scott nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Deucalion's dead. Jennifer's dead. Kali's dead, and Ennis, of course. The twins are Beta's again, and no one knows how that happened.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “So, let me get this straight. Derek used his Alphahood to heal his sister, and then arrived with Jennifer to kill Deucalion, while you arrived with Deucalion to kill Jennifer. You and Duke had a lil scrap-up, he almost killed you, but Derek killed him first. Then you became a True Alpha by magically breaking a line of dirt, and Jennifer tried to kill you. And Derek killed her, and now we've got two Alpha's and three Beta's roaming around town?”

The car stayed silent. “Did I miss anything?” Stiles asked sarcastically.

Isaac frowned. “We should take care of Ethan and Aiden.”

Scott shook his head. “They helped us.”

“They killed Boyd!”

“Isaac,” Scott warned. Isaac clenched his jaw, but stayed silent. Even Stiles could hear the power in Scott's voice, the Alpha-ness.

Derek tensed, and Stiles could see his knuckles going white around the steering wheel.

Stiles searched for something to say, to diffuse the tension, but his mind came up blank, his thoughts filled with the hum of power, which was building, and getting more intense. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Scott turned to face him. “Stiles? Should we go to the hospital or something?”

“Um, no. Why?”

“Because you're bleeding. On the head. Where concussions and brain damage occur.”

Stiles lightly touched his forehead. The blood was dry and flaky, but it was there. “After Deaton's. I have to talk to him about our time down under.”

Scott nodded, his brow furrowed in concern, and no one spoke a word until they got to the clinic.

Cora greeted them in the waiting room, a hug for Derek, and raised eyebrows for everyone else. “Why do you and McCall smell like Alphas?” she asked, not tiptoeing around the elephant in the room.

Derek stayed in the waiting room to explain it to her, while Stiles, Scott, and Isaac filed into the back room.

Lydia was cradling Aiden's head in her hands, which hurt. Stiles was still kind of in love with the girl, after all they'd been through together. She had been his “strong connection”, after all. But she was smiling down at Aiden in relief and exasperation, and Stiles looked away, because he didn't want anyone to see that he wanted her to smile at him like that.

Ethan was sitting up, drinking from a glass of water, smiling at them as they walked in. Stiles didn't like the twins, at all, but Ethan was bearable.

Deaton's head snapped up to look straight at Stiles. “Stiles,” he said, surprised.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Deaton frowned, and then looked at Scott, leaving Stiles confused at the abrupt dismissal. “I assume that Jennifer is taken care of. And Deucalion?”

Scott nodded, and flashed his red eyes. Stiles would never get tired of it. It was the coolest thing _ever_.

“Derek took care of him. Of them both.”

Deaton nodded. “So you've Ascended. May I ask,” he continued, with a sideways look at Stiles, “-who became an Alpha first?”

Scott frowned at the question. “Derek.”

Deaton turned away to poke something into Aiden's side. “How did you Ascend?”

“I broke Jennifer's mountain ash circle.”

Derek and Cora walked in, and Stiles pushed down the buzz in his chest. It was really starting to irritate him. He opened his mouth to say so, when Deaton interrupted him.

“I need to talk with Stiles, and Derek. Alone.”

“Is it about that weird, sexual-tension death stare they had before?” Isaac asked, holding back a smirk.

Derek glared at Isaac, and Stiles turned to him. “Shut up, Lahey,” he snapped.

Scott grabbed Isaac's sleeve and pulled him out, Aiden, Ethan, and Lydia following. Derek raised his eyebrows at Cora.

“Oh, you want me to go, too?” she asked, confused.

“Is your name Stiles?” Stiles asked sarcastically, fully aware he sounded like a 7th-grade teacher.

She glared at him and walked out, leaving Deaton, Derek, and Stiles.

Stiles hadn't really looked at Derek since that “weird, sexual-tension death stare”, and he wasn't going to now. He jumped up onto a steel table and looked expectantly at Deaton.

“The moment you woke up from the ice-bath, Stiles, I sensed something in you.”

Stiles tried to not roll his eyes. “Well, I did die for sixteen hours.” Derek drew in a harsh, surprised breath. Obviously he hadn't known about it.

Deaton ignored him. “And when you walked in just now, it was... more.”

Stiles rolled his eyes this time. “Can you cut to the chase, already?” He was way too tired for this mysterious veterinarian crap.

Deaton turned to Derek. “When you took Deucalion's life, you felt something, didn't you?”

“I became an Alpha,” Derek replied, slowly and hesitantly. “But this time was different.”

Deaton nodded, satisfied. “You felt an earthly pull, a grounding force?”

Derek nodded again, and Deaton looked back at Stiles. “And you felt something when you woke up, am I right?”

Stiles shook his head. “I felt it when I touched the nemeton, while we were under. That darkness you warned us about, and then... something filling it. It...”

“Hums?” Deaton supplied.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. And when I woke up, I said something about an Alpha?”

Deaton never really got excited, but there was no other way to explain his mood now. His voice was slightly higher, and his eyes sparkled “That time you were dead, you were opened up to the nemeton's magic. And it awakened a power in you, Stiles. The same power that I have.”

Stiles frowned. “I'm a vet?”

“You're an Emissary,” Derek said, his voice surprised and a little awed.

“You woke up with your magic searching for an Alpha. But since the only Alphas in Beacon Hills were the Alpha pack, who already had an Emissary in my sister, you didn't find one. And then Derek took Deucalion's Alphahood, and your magic clicked with him.”

Stiles glanced at Derek, who'd looked his way the exact same way. He felt the pull between them and forced his gaze away. “So... I'm Derek's Emissary? What about Scott? He's an Alpha now.”

“Emissaries can leave packs if they choose, but only after they've completed their training. While you're still learning, you need a constant, an Alpha, to stabilise your magic. You can't leave Derek's pack until after training, since your magic latched onto him straight away.”

“What if I don't want to be trained?”

Deaton raised an eyebrow. “You still have to stay by Derek, or you'll kill yourself. The magic will build, and there will be no one there to reign it in. You'd eventually spontaneously combust.

Stiles sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. “This is great,” he said bitterly. “I'm magically bonded with the broodiest Alpha in Beacon County, while my best friend is the one that would benefit from an Emissary the most.”

Derek looked sort of hurt, which pleased Stiles. Not in a sadist kind of way, it's just that he wasn't really used to seeing emotion of any kind except anger on the wolf's face. It reminded Stiles that he was getting better, using his words more, showing his feelings, not lurking in corner or outside high schools anymore

Deaton turned his back on the pair, the conversation clearly over. “You two need to work together. You're bonded now, and you'll only cause more pain if you resist it. Can you call Scott in?”

Stiles huffed and pushed off the table, stalking out of the door, his head reeling with all the information and explanation that just raised more questions.

Derek was close behind him, and Stiles could feel his annoyance and exasperation.

He ducked around Derek and poked his head back into the back room. “Does that mean you'll train me?” he asked Deaton.

“I'll call you, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded and gave Derek a challenging “ _what?_ ” look, then walked outside, where everyone was crowded around Derek's truck. Scott looked up from talking with Isaac. “What was that about? Are you okay?”

Stiles waved off his concerns with a weary hand. “Deaton wants to talk to you.”

“You need to go to the hospital, Stiles,” Scott answered, touching Stiles' forehead and drawing away pain he hadn't even realised he was feeling.

“I'll take him,” Derek's gruff voice said from behind Stiles. Stiles jumped and glared at Derek.

Scott gave Derek an uncertain look, but gave up and looked back at Stiles. “Call me later, okay?”

Stiles gave him a weak grin. “Sure, buddy.” He brushed past Scott and stalked towards Derek's truck, pulling the door open and slamming it after him.

Derek got in a second after, scowling.

Stiles crossed his arms. “What did you do with the Camaro?”

“Too conspicuous. I hid it.”

“My first advise as an Emissary, is that you should get it back.”

Derek pulled out of the car lot. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles shrugged. “Like a magical tree stump bad-touched me.”

Derek sighed. “I meant your head.”

“Like a magical tree stump bad-touched me, with a side of a throbbing headache.”

Derek glared at the road, and Stiles felt like he'd won something.

But after a few minutes, the silence got to him. “So it looks like we're going to be spending quality time together.”

Silence.

“You know, bonding and everything. Like, the abstract kind, not the sexual kind.” _Shut up, Stilinski._

Brooding silence.

“So, as your Emissary, you must take all of my advice and only listen to whatever I say.”

Derek huffed. “You haven't completed your training. And once you do, you'll join Scott's pack. I don't have to listen to you.”

Stiles hadn't thought about that. Joining Scott after he'd completed his training. Of course he would, but the way Derek said it, so final and assertive and sure, it kind of hurt.

Stiles touched his head wound again. “Yeah,” he replied hesitantly.

Derek glanced at him, not missing his tone, but looked away just as abruptly. “So you were dead for sixteen hours?”

Stiles nodded and stared out the window. “Felt like fifteen minutes, but apparently. It was not the most comfortable heaven, either.”

Derek considered this for a long moment. “And that awakened your powers.”

“And now we have no resident human.”

They pulled up at the hospital, and Stiles muttered a thanks and moved to get out of the truck when Derek grabbed his arm. He tried to ignore the hum of energy that concentrated itself on the warmth of Derek's hand, but it felt so energising that he didn't pull away.

“I'm going in there with you,” Derek told him.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You feel it too, huh?”

Derek gave him a blank look, and Stiles sighed. “The bond? It makes me anxious when I'm away from you. Ah, jeez, that sounded sappy. Ignore that.”

Derek nodded. “I feel it to. It's a pack thing.”

“So I'm part of the pack?” Stiles asked, excited by the idea. He stumbled out of the truck.

“I'm not sure there is a pack anymore,” Derek replied, ducking his head so he wouldn't have to meet Stiles' eyes.

Erica was dead. Boyd was dead. Isaac... was spending more time around Scott. That left...

“Peter?” Stiles winced as soon as the name left him mouth.

Derek grimaced while they walked up to the reception. “He's not exactly trustworthy. A pack relies heavily on trust.”

The woman behind the desk gave Stiles a smile. “Stiles, it's nice to see you again. Or not,” she added, spotting the blood on the side of his head. “What did you do this time?”

Stiles grinned at her. “You know me, Maureen. Clumsy.” He was on first name basis with most of the nurses in BHMH, since a large portion of his childhood was spent there.

Maureen gave him an exasperated sigh. “You were born to attract trouble, I swear, Stiles Stilinski.”

 


	2. Behind These Hazel Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a Kelly Clarkson song (I don't even listen to half the songs I name chapters after, I just use the song titles. Not a fan of Kelly Clarkson). I really wanna draw some fanart, but there's the slight problem of me sucking at drawing (can't be good at everything). I hope you guys like it :D

“ _So does it have anything to do with why you smell funny?_ ”

Stiles pulled a face at his phone lying on the bed, on speakerphone. “Dude, stop sniffing me. It's creepy.”

“ _Well, what is it?_ ” Scott asked insistently.

“Uh, you know how Deaton's... like, a druid dude thing?” He paused, waiting for Scott to jump to the right conclusion.

“ _Yeah?_ ”

Of course, this was Scott. Lovable, puppy-like, clueless-yet-earnest Scott. Stiles sighed and moved to sit at the chair by his desk. “Turns out I am, too. That bath thingy just triggered it.”

“ _You're an Emissary?! Dude, that is so awesome!_ ” Scott yelled through the phone. “ _And I just became an Alpha!_ ”

 _Ah, jeez._ “Yeah, about that... Scotty, my mojo latched onto the nearest Alpha.”

“ _And...?_ ”

“ _And_ , that was Derek. He became an Alpha before you Ascended.”

Stiles could practically see Scott's pout. “ _But you can just switch Alphas, right?_ ”

“Not so much, buddy. My powers are still developing, which means they're unstable. I think Deaton said something about me spontaneously combusting if I tried to leave Derek's pack.”

“ _What pack? Isaac? Can you even have a pack with just one Beta?_ ”

Stiles rolled his eyes and opened his laptop, switching on the button and tapping his fingers as it loaded. “Isaac isn't in Derek's pack anymore. I'd feel it.” Instead, he felt the three empty holes where Isaac, Erica, and Boyd used to occupy, though he suspected it was more of a Derek-empathy link thing.

“ _So he's an Omega?_ ”

“No, he's just found another Alpha.” He clicked the web browser and typed _Druid_ in the search box. “You.” _About 3,600,000 results._

Scott scoffed. “ _Stiles, dude, you've got to be kidding me. I just Ascended, and Derek was the one who turned him._ ”

Stiles squinted at the screen. All that had came up was some New-Age Wicca druidry crap. Old men in white robes, holding branches. Stiles knew for a fact that he didn't look good with a beard. Jackson teased him mercilessly about his “peach fuzz” in eighth grade.

“ _Stiles! You there, man?_ ”

Stiles snapped to attention and reached across the room for his phone. “Yeah, sorry, man. Zoned out.”

“ _Researching_?” Scott's tone was reprimanding.

“You know me too well. Anyway. I have to get some shut-eye, and you have to deal with your new Beta.”

Scott made a strangled noise. “ _I can't be an Alpha! Stiles, I can't do this._ ”

Stiles grinned. “Scott, I've known you forever. You'd make the best Alpha.”

“ _Don't let Derek hear you say that._ ” He sounded sulky.

“Derek is a big boy, he can handle himself.”

Scott laughed, a kind of knowing laugh that made Stiles paranoid. “ _Anyway, see you at school._ ” He hung up, and the silence abruptly rushed in, heavy in the air.

Stiles was an Emissary. A druid. A magical being of enigmous intent. _Derek's_ magical being of enigmous intent.

“Fuck my life,” Stile muttered, turning back to his computer. The tapping of his fingers against the keys comforted him, filling the silence and making it bearable. He may talk a lot when someone is there to willingly (sometimes unwillingly, but Stiles can't make distinctions like that) listen, but when he was alone, with his thoughts, he stayed silent. He liked to think without interruption.

But with this new energy inside him, and him being more aware of it than ever, it disrupted his thought process, fractured it. Almost triggering his ADHD, even though he'd taken his Adderal that morning.

So, when he was knee-deep in research that had somehow ended up on a web page describing Preclassic Mayan culture, he noticed when the back of neck started tingling. It was a warning, not an urgent one, but a pressing concern for his well-being. Well, at least these powers that had been forced upon him looked out for him, despite being a huge burden on his deeply-buried wishes to leave the supernatural world behind some day.

Stiles looked to his door, which was shut, as he left it. His window- shut, as he left it. But his spidey-senses didn't let up, so he stood up and opened his door a crack, peering out.

The hallway's shadows were still and heavy. Quiet, neutral. Nothing out of the ordinary, but Stiles switched the hallway light on anyway. Nothing.

He shut the door and locked it, just in case. His mojo wasn't giving him a rest, and he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he checked the window.

Stiles pulled the curtain away and peeked into the dark. His eyes adjusted after a few minutes, and he could see the silhouette of trees outlining the other side of his street.

As soon as he spotted it, it was gone, but he was sure of what he'd seen. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared, wide-eyed, at the place where'd he'd just seen the unmistakable profile of a man.

Stiles' first thought was _panic_. His second thought was _Derek?_ And his third thought was _fuck_.

Because the figure that had been standing at the treeline was bigger, beefier, more intimidating, and it held what could only be taken for a crossbow.

_A hunter._

_A fucking hunter_.

 _Outside his_ house _._

A hunter, outside his house, just when he'd discovered his druidism the day before.

He wasn't sure about hunter's rules on druids (he was pretty sure it was impartial, but he'd ask Allison later), but Stiles had experience with hunters and other things bigger and badder than himself using him to get to the people he cared about.

His phone started ringing obnoxiously, and Stiles stumbled over his own feet, turning to grab it from the desk.

“ _Stiles?”_ Derek's voice was urgent and concerned.

“Wha-” Stiles swallowed the lump of panic in his throat. “What is it? Witches, pixies, trolls? Do trolls exist? Oh my god, they do, don't they?”

“No, _Stiles. What's wrong?_ ”

Stiles frowned. “What do you mean?”

Derek sighed. “ _I_ mean, _I could feel your panic_.”

“Aw, man, do we have some kind of emotion-bond thing going on? That is so lame.”

“ _Stiles,_ ” Derek growled.

“Okay, okay. It's nothing, jeez. I just... I thought I saw something.”

Derek was silent for a second. “ _You're lying_.”

Stiles opened his door and made his way towards the bathroom. “Nope. No lying. I am the most honest person you'll ever meet. It's one of my many virtues.”

“ _Tell me what happened._ ”

“Ooooh, you're big scary Alpha voice doesn't intimidate me, wolf-man.”

“ _I'm coming over._ ” The line went dead, and Stiles swore. Making his Alpha angry was something that made Stiles question his suicidal tendencies.

He slid the phone in his pocket and turned the tap on, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. It glared back at him, eyes wide, cheeks blotched, hair messy. And then he heard some kind of whooshing in his ears, like he'd dived under water. His reflection straightened up - _but he didn't_ \- and gave him a sardonic smirk, not unfriendly, but condescending.

Stiles gasped and gripped the sink, unable to tear his gaze from his reflection, which tapped a finger to his nose. The eyes flashed red, Alpha-red, and his stomach lurched.

And then he could hear again, his reflection had the same look of panicked terror, and his eyes were a comforting hazel again.

And that's how Derek found him, ten minutes later, staring at the mirror as if he'd seen a ghost.

 

Derek hung up before he swore at the boy. His _Emissary_. The thought made him want to bang his head on the wall and laugh at the same time.

 _At least it was Stiles,_ he thought as he shrugged on his leather jacket and opened the loft door. Stiles was reliable, loyal, constant. When it came to the big things. The small things- he was unpredictable, spastic, indecisive. But he had a habit of coming up with genius ideas on the spot, working well under pressure. _So,_ Derek, had to admit reluctantly, _he'd make a good Emissary_.

Derek wasn't even sure why he was going to the Stilinski house anyway. He'd felt Stiles' panic, called him, and the boy seemed fine. Sarcastic, irritating, fine.

But his wolf needed to see it's packmate. It's only packmate. All connection with Isaac had been severed when he'd healed Cora (who'd left, saying she needed to tie up some loose ends before joining his pack).

He was halfway there when he felt it. A flare of panic, urgent, unyielding, more intense than before. Mixed with the smell of pine trees, a signature scent of Stiles that he'd developed since his spark... ignited.

So it was Emissary-related.

He sped through the streets and almost forgot to turn off the engine in his truck before taking the stairs five at a time.

Stiles' room was empty, and Derek whirled around, trying to find him. He willed himself to calm down and assess the situation, and eventually his nose led him to the bathroom.

Stiles was leaning over the sink, staring, wide-eyed, at his reflection in the mirror. His breathing was quick and shallow and bordering on hyperventilation, and his grip on the sink turned his knuckles white.

Derek stood there for a moment, sure that Stiles had noticed his entrance (or heard it, at least), but Stiles didn't acknowledge him. He just kept staring.

So Derek walked up and gently pried Stiles' hands from the sink, encircling his wrists with his fingers, twisting Stiles away from his reflection to look at him.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. Stiles' eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere on Derek's torso.

“Stiles,” he repeated, firmer. Stiles' eyes snapped to look up at Derek's, immediately full of clarity. His breath hitched.

“Derek?” he whispered. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Derek tighteneed the grip on Stiles' wrists. “I told you I was coming, idiot.”

Stiles looked down again. “Oh.”

Derek let go of him. “Damn right, “ _oh_ ”. What the hell happened?”

Stiles turned back to the sink and twisted the cold water tap, letting it run down his hands.

“I just had a mini magical panic attack, okay?”

“A panic attack? Why?”

Stiles laughed, and it came out sort of bitter. “I don't know. I don't know anything. Deaton has given me jack shit about this whole deal. I never wanted this, and now I'm a fucking New Age hippie running around naked in the woods with feces painted on my face.”

Derek couldn't help it; he laughed. His anger and concern didn't go away, but it eased slightly. “Feces?”

Stiles scowled at him and cupped his hands, his palms gathering the water in a pool. He leaned forward and splashed it on his face. “Shut up,” he mumbled. He wiped his face with his hands, not bothering with a towel. “I researched it. Modern day druids. Delusional bastards.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, but something stopped him. He couldn't say what.

That was a lie. What stopped him was the drop of water trailing down Stiles' jaw, his neck, disappearing down his collarbone under his shirt. The way his wet sparkled in the light. The droplet of water clinging to one of his ridiculously long eyelashes.

His eyebrows rose. “Derek?” The droplet fell down his cheek, and Stiles wiped it away absent-mindedly.

Derek looked at Stiles' mouth, which had just said his name. “Hmm?”

Stiles sighed and pushed past Derek, going into his room. It gave Derek a few seconds to reorder his thoughts, which were scattered everywhere. Damn that boy and his eyelashes. And his mouth, jeez, that mouth.

Obviously, Derek had a problem. A Stiles-Stilinski-related problem that he wasn't sure he wanted to fix. He'd always noticed Stiles, regarding him outwardly with violence and glares, inwardly with a detached kind of interest. He had no idea when interest turned into attraction, but he had a practised method for hiding it. Death stares and death threats and exasperation.

“Are you going to stand in my bathroom all night like a creeper, or leave?”

Derek sighed and followed Stiles to his bedroom. “I'm not leaving until you stop lying to me.”

Stiles flopped on his bed, his head resting against the wall and his long, lanky legs crossing at the ankles. He raised an eyebrow. “Does omitting the important details count as lying? Because it doesn't in my book.”

“Stiles, I swear to go-”

“You'll do what? Use your Alpha-jedi mind tricks on me?”

“If I have to.”

Stiles huffed and closed his eyes. “Fine. I saw someone outside my house.”

Derek tensed. “Who?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don't know. I'm guessing it's a hunter, since he had a crossbow. Isn't that their weapon of choice?”

Derek sat at the desk. “Crossbow, gun, knives... any and every weapon is their preferred weapon of choice. Allison specialises in compound and crossbows.”

“So he's not a hunter? He could just be some random human who lurks outside of the Sheriff's house with a crossbow,” Stiles slurred. He was almost asleep.

Derek shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “It would've been a hunter, Stiles. But why were you having a panic attack in the mirror?”

Stiles' breathing was evening out. “Because I saw something. In the mirror.” He was obviously too tired to lie or attempt to shrug it off.

“What did you see?” Derek asked, leaning towards Stiles to catch his reply, even though he would've heard it as clear as day.

“Me. But... not me, y'know?” Stiles mumbled.

“What do you mean?!” Derek urged, shocking Stiles out of his stupor. His eyes flew open and... Jesus Christ, they were _red_.

Just like Derek's eyes. Just like Scott's eyes. They were the eyes of an Alpha, on a human.

The red faded away when Stiles blinked. He seemed to not notice. “Derek, dude, I'm _tired_. Go away.”

Derek's eyes were wide as he sat back in Stiles' desk chair.

Stiles noticed and sat up, propping himself up with an elbow. “What?”

“Your eyes.”

Stiles' now reassuringly hazel eyes widened. “Did they... did they go red?”

Derek nodded. “Is that what you saw in the mirror?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean, I gathered it was just a druid thing, y'know. Why do I get the feeling it isn't?”

Derek stood up. “We need to talk to Deaton. I'm pretty sure that's not normal.”

Stiles sighed and flipped onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. “Yeah, good luck with that. I need some beauty sleep.”

Derek didn't look back. “Sleep can't work miracles overnight.”

“Ouch.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and leave kudos (unless you think I don't deserve it, I'm not forcing you to) getting freaked out over the season finale, and I'm in a different time zone, so I get spoilers :( Anyway, next chapter, Stiles is getting inked up, because inked Stiles is sexy


	3. Ink My Whole Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Wiz Khalifa. I don't name the chapters on the songs, but the song titles, so I feel like this one is a bad rap song, but oh well.

“ _You felt his panic attack?_ ”

Derek tried not to sigh, or growl, or throw his phone. “Yes. Just tell me what's wrong with him!”

Deaton was silent for a moment, which gave Derek some time to calm down. “ _This is worrying. I should've realised... What do you know of Stiles' mother?_ ”

Derek frowned and lowered his voice, even though he could hear Stiles' snoring upstairs. “Nothing much. She died of some sort of disease when he was young.”

“ _I knew Claudia Stilinski very well when she was alive. It isn't by chance that Stiles has developed the powers he has, it's hereditary. Claudia never embraced it, though. She chose to live a human life with John, and abandoned the idea completely when Stiles was born. She made me swear not to tell anyone, not even John knew._ ”

“So... what are you telling me?”

Deaton sighed. “ _There's a theory, that if an Emissary never touches their spark, it gradually increases in power and strength, and then it's passed on to the next generation. Claudia let her power build up, and it must've passed down to Stiles._ ”

“So... he's really powerful? Isn't that a good thing?”

“ _I'm not sure, Derek. It means he forms very strong bonds with his pack and his Alpha. An Emissary is meant to advise. They're part of the pack, but the connection is weak. It sounds like Stiles has formed a solid bond with-_ ”

“But that's a good thing!” Derek interrupted. “That means I can protect him like I would with my Beta's. I can know when he's in danger, or having a panic attack.”

“ _Derek, with that much power... there's always a catch. A balance. I fear it's not going to end pleasant for either of you._ ”

Derek was about ready to smash the phone, sick of Deaton and his cryptic nature. “What do you mean by that?” he gritted out.

“ _I'll look into it. But, Derek? You can't tell Stiles. If was unstable before, he's dangerous now._ ”

“How do you plan on fixing that?” Derek asked dryly.

“ _Bring him to the clinic midday tomorrow. It's time he got his first tattoo._ ” Deaton hung up abruptly, and Derek dropped the phone to the floor before he threw it.

He could feel his vision tinting red, and worked to calm himself.

Since he became an Alpha, the first time, he found that anger didn't work as an anchor. Instead, he focused on his pack. They strengthened him as much as he strengthened them.

It started getting harder to control the wolf when Erica and Boyd went missing. Harder when he found Erica's body. Almost impossible when Boyd was shoved onto his claws. Isaac was his only anchor, even as he felt him slipping away.

Now all he had was Stiles, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

His wolf hearing picked out Stiles' light snoring from upstairs and focused on it, let the sound wash over him and calm the red in his eyes.

But while he had been focusing on Stiles, he'd blocked out everything else, so he was a little surprised to find the barrel of a pistol shoved in his face.

He tilted his head and found the owner of the gun to be the sheriff. There were no lights on in the living room, so the sheriff probably had no idea who it was he was about to shoot. Derek wasn't entirely sure if it would've mattered anyway.

“Sheriff,” Derek greeted calmly.

The sheriff blinked and lowered the gun. “Hale?” He reached for a light switch and flicked it on. He was in uniform, just back from a nightshift, Derek guessed. “What the hell are you doing in my living room?”

Derek had no idea how to address the situation. The sheriff had just found about about werewolves and druids and darachs, and it was a very sensitive topic to touch upon.

“Stiles has told you everything, hasn't he?”

The sheriff frowned. “He told me his best friend is a werewolf. I witnessed Lahey's eyes turn gold as he held a giant slab of concrete to save us being squashed to death. Stiles told me _you're_ a werewolf,” he added, and it sounded like an accusation. “He did, however, fail to mention if you're one of the good guys.”

Derek sighed. “Of course he didn't.”

The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Derek chose his words carefully. “Instinct. Stiles is a part of my pack, and packs stick together. I'm his Alpha, which means I have a duty to protect him.”

The sheriff blinked. “Stiles is part of your pack?”

 _That little shit._ “I'm guessing he forgot to mention that.”

“Isn't Scott an Alpha now? Why would Stiles be part of your pack and not his?”

Derek tried to not take offence. “Sheriff Stilinski, this is a conversation you should have with your son.”

Derek walked towards the front door, when the sheriff's voice stopped him. “Derek?” Derek turned back. “He's safe, right? Around you guys? Around Scott?”

Derek gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Scott is one of the best werewolves I know. Stiles couldn't be safer. We would never let anything happen to him.”

The sheriff nodded, satisfied.

Derek didn't leave. Not when there was a hunter lurking around the Stilinski house, no way.

 

 

Stiles took out his phone and snapped a few photos, before knocking on the window of Derek's truck. He watched Derek jerk awake, and tried not to laugh when he wiped the drool off his face.

But Derek's scowl, he didn't do a good job.

Stiles motioned for him to wind down the window, and after a heavy glare, Derek did.

“What?” he barked out.

Stiles held his hands up submissively, with a grin. “Nothing, man. Not a morning person?”

Derek opened the car door and stood up gracefully. It should be illegal that someone should manage to look so good after taking a nap in their _car_. “Not a Stiles person.”

Stiles widened his eyes. “You wound me. Now what is this I hear about you lurking in my living room?”

Derek brushed a hand through his hair and kicked the door shut. “I was talking to Deaton and your dad walked in.”

“With a gun.”

“I noticed.”

Stiles grimaced. “Sorry about that.” He moved to put his phone away when Derek caught his wrist. “Hey! Hands to yourself,” he protested, trying to pull away.

Derek ignored him and glanced at Stiles' phone. “You took pictures?” he demanded.

Stiles smiled sheepishly. “Aw, Der-bear, you look so cute when you're asleep.”

Derek growled. “Delete them.”

Stiles shook his head. “No.”

Derek pulled him closer and reached out another hand to grab the phone, but Stiles twisted around a little, until his back was to Derek. He shifted his weight, turned on his heel, and then he was free.

He grinned at Derek, who was staring at him with a dumb-founded expression. “Victory.”

“How did you do that?”

“I'm the son of a sheriff. I can handle myself.” And there was the whole Gerard-thing that Stiles was not going to bring up.

Derek growled, and Stiles thought it sounded almost... playful. “Delete them.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “I've already sent them to Scott.”

Derek sighed in exaggerated exasperation and shot him a glare. “I have to take you to Deaton's.”

“Oh, right. What did he say about the eye thing?”

Derek looked away for a second, and then back at Stiles, who narrowed his eyes, sensing a lie coming. “He said it just means you're really powerful. The first pack of an Emissary during training develops strong bonds with them.”

Stiles nodded. He knew Derek was lying, but it sounded like a good lie. “So why am I going to Deaton's?”

“For your first tattoo.”

Stiles' mouth dropped open. “I get tattoos?!” he yelled.

Derek winced, and Stiles noted to tone down the volume next time. “Apparently.”

Stiles couldn't stop grinning. “That is so badass. Wait- why doesn't Deaton have tatts?”

Derek shrugged and didn't reply, instead staring into the line of trees across the road.

Stiles rolled his eyes and gripped Derek's sleeve. “You look like you need a shower and breakfast.”

Derek frowned, but didn't resist Stiles tugging at him. “I can just go home.”

“Call it pack bonding. Emissary-to-Alpha. Besides, dad's asleep. He won't shoot you.”

Derek snorted and pulled free, walking up to the house on his own. “Have you told him about the hunter?”

Stiles glanced sideways at Derek as they walked into the kitchen. “No need to. You know that thing they say about threes?”

Derek nodded. “One's an incident, two's a coincidence, three's a pattern. But you should still tell him.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I don't want to worry him even more. I never wanted to get him mixed up in all of this. He'll just worry.”

Derek sat at the table, looking completely out of place and constrasting to the homely feel of the place in his dark, dreary clothing. “He's your father, it's his job.”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it, remembering the fact that Derek didn't even have a father. “Yeah, I suppose,” he mumbled unconvincingly.

“Did you tell him about you?”

“What about me?” Stiles took out a frying pan and mixed together the stuff he'd taken out before waking Derek up.

“About you being an Emissary, idiot.”

Stiles turned to pull a face at Derek. “Yeah, thanks for that. I was hoping...”

“To what? Keep it from him forever?”

Stiles almost said yes, because that's what he wanted to do. He wanted his dad to know that he was human, no matter what happened in this town. But his dad had to know. “Yeah, I told him.”

“What did he say?” _Wow, this dude was all talk today._

“None of your business,” Stiles shot back.

Derek grunted, a Derek-y grunt, and stayed quiet.

Stiles hummed a song that he'd heard on the radio as he worked, blocking Derek's demanding presence and focusing on breakfast.

He laid a plate in front of Derek with a smirk. “Here you go, handsome. Stilinski recipe.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Pancakes?”

Stiles gave him a mock-offended look. “What?”

Derek shook his head and cut through one. “I just never imagined you to be a cook.”

Stiles put his hands on his hips. “I'm a damned good cook, thank you very much, smarty-pants.”

Derek gave him a doubtful look, obviously hearing the lie in his heartbeat. “Fine, it's just pancakes, okay? They're the only thing I can cook, but I'm amazing at them.”

Derek lifted the fork to his mouth, and Stiles tore his gaze away, grabbing his plate and heading upstairs. “I'm running late for school,” he called back.

 _Shit. School_. After all that had happened, they still had to go to school. Stiles was all for dropping out and fighting the forces of evil with a one-track mind, but Scott insisted that they had to get an education, because fighting the forces of evil didn't pay very well.

He figured that he'd need twice the daily dosage, because ever since he'd 'awakened' his spark, he felt even more jumpy and distracted than usual.

His phone chimed, and he took it out to see a message from Scott.

 **Scott:** _Is that Derek?_

 **Stiles:** _Yep._

 **Scott:** _I'm sending this to Cora._

Stiles grinned and headed back downstairs. Derek was standing awkwardly in the kitchen, holding his plate and looking between the sink and the table.

“Aw, that;s so sweet. Doing dishes?”

Derek spotted him and scowled. He dropped the plate in the sink. “No. I'm taking you to school.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “If you were driving the Camaro, maybe. I'm not defenseless, Derek.”

“I know that,” Derek muttered. He sighed. “Fine, drive yourself. But I'm taking you to Deaton's at lunch.”

“You're mother-henning me, “ Stiles grumbled. He grabbed his keys off the hook, and swept his arm to the door. “Now, shoo. You must have some sort of life when I'm not around.”

Derek glared at him and stalked out, Stiles following close behind. And if he caught a glimpse of Derek's ass (hey, they're really tight jeans, okay?), no one had to know.

 

School was hell.

The evil twins wouldn't stop smiling at him, and not in a “we're sorry we killed some of your friends” way, but a “we're going to rip you to shreds and use your intestines as tooth floss” way. It sent shivers down Stiles' spine, and he was actually looking forward to economics, where he'd have Scott to glare at them.

But when he walked in the classroom, his seat was taken by a girl. A stunningly gorgeous girl, with blonde curls and bright green eyes. Stiles' neck prickled, but he figured it was because she was smiling at him, a full-blown smile that seemed to be an apology.

“I'm sorry,” she chirped. Her voice was like the trilling of birds in the morning (except, less annoying). “Is this your seat?”

Stiles glanced at Scott, who was staring at her with an open mouth and wide eyes, probably mirroring Stiles' own expression.

Stiles caught himself and gave her one of his winning smiles that he usually reserved for Lydia. “Sure, no, I mean... uh-yeah, you can... I'll just-” he stuck his thumb back at the seat behind Scott. Not exactly a winning speech.

She gave him a grateful smile, and Stiles willed his feet to move, to not make a bigger fool of himself.

He spent the whole lesson trading looks with Scott and staring at the way she crossed her legs, and how her floral-print skirt started to edge up her thigh...

When the bell rang, Stiles almost missed it. Until he realised he was due for a tattoo.

He moved to get out of his seat and follow Scott, who'd agreed to accompany him for the tattoo since Stiles had been with him for that terrible circle thing.

But the blonde girl caught his arm and looked up at him. “I'm Jezebel, by the way.” She let got of his arm and held out her hand.

Stiles stared at it for a moment, and then shook it. Her hand was soft and little, but her grip was strong. “Stiles.”

Jezebel raised an eyebrow and flashed him another smile. “Stiles? Nice name. Do you mind showing me around? It's just-” She pouted, “This place is bigger than I expected, and I've gotten lost, like, five times today.” She laughed, blushing a little bit, and Stiles was quickly preferring blondes over strawberry blondes.

He opened his mouth to say “of course, definitely, marry me” when his phone chimed. He gave her an apologetic look at opened the message.

 **Derek:** _Where the hell are you?_

Stiles felt like a bucket of water had been thrown over him. He glanced back at Jezebel to find her regarding Stiles with a look akin to hunger, but it clouded over to cute uncertainty, and Stiles wasn't sure what he'd seen.

He shook his head. “Sorry, I have things to do. But,” he said, clapping Scott on the shoulder, who had been watching their exchange with disbelief, “Scotty here will be more than happy to. You two crazy kids have fun.” He gave her another smile, and squeezed Scott on the shoulder twice, hard. A warning.

Scott gave him a confused, but thankful, look. Stiles walked out of the classroom, hearing Scott start to talk to Jezebel, and her murmur a reply, but something told him she was watching him walk away.

As soon as Stiles saw the truck, and Derek leaning on it in his dark clothes and permanent scowl, his breathing evened out.

Derek pushed off the truck and frownd at him. “What is it?”

Stiles pulled a face. “Stop using your empathetic Alpha-wonder powers on me.” He got into the car and wiped a hand over his face. He felt like he was having a hang-over.

Derek got in and started the engine, staring at Stiles expectantly.

“Is there such thing as a supernatural hang-over?” Stiles asked, hands covering his face.

“What? No. Why?”

Stiles sighed. “Because I feel like I have one.”

Derek leaned close, and it took Stiles a few seconds of staring at Derek's lips (they were right there, okay? Right there, and kissable, so kissable) to realise that Derek was sniffing him.

He wrinkled his nose and pushed Derek's head away. “Stop sniffing me! I'm going to have to start wearing a t-shirt.”

Derek licked his lips, and no, Stiles didn't get any thoughts about that- ugh, his mind was all over the place. “You smell weird.”

Stiles was just about to reply with a trademark sarcastic comment, when he stopped. His mind was whirring over something, clicking details into place and proposing new questions and solutions. He gestured to the road distractedly. “Drive,” he muttered, lost in thought.

There was definitely something wrong with that Jezebel chick. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly, but he had a bad feeling that leaving her alone with Scott wasn't the best idea.

Once they'd pulled up at the animal clinic, Stiles had gotten no where. It was annoying. He was so close to figuring something out, but the ideas and facts just slipped away. He wondered if it was an Emissary thing.

Derek shot him a dark look as they got out of the car. “Stop it. I can't concentrate when you're like this.”

Stiles poked his tongue out at him, happy to converse now that he'd filed away the feeling he'd gotten. “Boo hoo. Have a cry about it.”

Derek sighed and open the door with a little more force than was necessary. Seriously, what was with him today? All anger and violence.

Stiles stumbled after him, tripping on the welcome mat (which seemed a little counter-productive for a welcome mat). He straightened and stopped, mid-swear word, when he saw his guidance counsellor.

Well, Deaton's sister. It's important to remember that.

She and Deaton were standing next to each other, enough distance between them to suggest that they weren't exactly close. Stiles couldn't even imagine a baby Alan and Marin playing dolls and action figures. It actually hurt his brain.

Morrell smiled when she saw him. “Stiles. It's good to see you again.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well I'd almost say the same but... needles.” He didn't need to expand on his fear of needles; Morell knew.

She gestured to the back room and Stiles and Derek looked at each other. Derek could probably sense his nervousness.

Derek gave him a reassuring look, which was weird on Derek's face, and they all walked into the operating room.

Stiles took a deep breath when he saw the needle. “I thought it would be more... primitive. What's with this tattoo, anyway?”

Deaton answered from behind him. “Right now, your power is reaching out, like a toddler, touching everything to see what it feels like. Your first tattoo centers your energy, concentrates it.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped his hands on his jeans. “O-okay, so... what does it look like?”

Morrell pulled down the collar of her shirt to expose her collarbone. Definitely not what he was expecting.

It was three lines, angling inwards, with three dots at the top. Simple design, and it definitely didn't require too much needle-to-skin contact.

“That's awen, right?”

Morrell smiled again, and it calmed Stiles. “Yes. Awen describes the spark or creative and divine energy. The spark of _your_ energy, Stiles. Awen balances it out. It actually relates to the triskele,” she added, looking at Derek.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega,” Stiles murmured. Three lines for each.

He took another deep breath. “Okay, let's do this. Are there any, like, chants or incantations or...?”

Deaton shook his head. “The only magic in this ritual is the ink, which is mixed with ash from the rowan tree. Mountain ash.”

Stiles rolled his shoulders and tugged his shirt off, exposing his torso. He knew he wasn't as muscled as Scott or Derek, but he had been working out, and he was proud of his newly-acquired abs.

“You'll need to mentally prepare yourself. It's going to hurt a lot,” Deaton said. He and Morrell left the room, probably to get some restraints.

Stiles slumped his shoulders. “Great. Pain. Highlight of my day.”

Derek was looking at him strange, his eyes raking over Stiles' body. He suddenly felt really naked, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don't objectify me,” he said.

Derek's eyes snapped up to meet his. “You...” He cleared his throat. “You've been working out?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “My best friend becomes a werewolf, and the whole town descends into one supernatural disaster after another, and it's surprising that I want to be in shape the next time I get beaten up?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Beaten up?”

Stiles looked away, cursing himself for bringing that up. He didn't like to advertise being kidnapped and beaten up by a pensioner (in his defense, the pensioner had a mean right-hook).

Derek opened his mouth to say something else, but Stiles stopped him. “Hey, I'm meant to mentally prepare myself for pain, right? Let's do that. Let's mentally prepare myself for pain.”

Derek reached out a hand to brush against Stiles' arm, and Stiles shivered. Derek dropped his hand abruptly. “I can take some of the pain away while they're tattooing you,” he offered.

Stiles shook his head. “It feels like I should deal with the pain myself, you know? And besides, I'm getting tattooed with mountain ash, Derek. I don't want you to hurt yourself,” he replied non-chalantly.

Morrell and Deaton walked back in, and Stiles could tell they'd just had a heated conversation, because they were even tenser than usual, and the air was practically frosty.

“Once you get this tattoo, we have to begin your training straight away. This tattoo will temporarily dampen your power, until you get your next one, and it will leave you defenseless and... despondent. Depressed,” Morrell said.

Stiles grimaced. “Let's just get this over and done with.” He jumped up on the bench and closed his eyes when he heard the whining of the needle.

As soon as it touched his skin, he passed out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how about that season finale, huh? I totally called Derek turning into a wolf when I saw the season 2 opening credits!! Does that mean Braeden is into bestiality? ;) and the Sterek moment, jesus, that was cool. Just so you guys know, I like Malia, she's amazing. I just don't like Stalia. And I like Braeden, but not Draeden. And I love Marrish, but Stydia has to be endgame. What about you guys?


	4. Close Your Eyes And Count To Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a Grouplove song. And you will have noticed that I don't do summaries :/ anyway, thanks for your awesome comments :P This is awen, Stiles' tattoo:

 

Stiles jerked away with a gasp and a scream caught in his throat. He choked it back and stared around the room, breathing heavily.

Deaton and Morrell were standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed, staring at him with interest.

And that was Derek, behind him, holding him in his lap, his arms wrapping around Stiles' torso, hands warm and fingers splayed across his stomach. His bare stomach.

Stiles went red and pulled away abruptly, feeling a light stab of pain as he did. He glared at Derek. “You're not meant to take my pain, idiot.”

Derek stared back at him with a raised eyebrow, but stayed silent.

Stiles huffed and stood up. “What's the point of being an Emissary if you won't take my advice?” He scowled and craned his neck, looking down at his collarbone.

The ink was black, but it pulsed to the beat of his heart, black to light grey to black. His skin was slightly raised and red around the lines, and it stung to touch, but Stiles had to touch it. He traced it lightly with his finger and looked back at Deaton.

“How many of these do I have to get?”

“You can stop after ten, but if you choose to continue your training, you can have up to a hundred.”

“Where are yours?”

Deaton and Morrell traded looks. “We chose to hide ours. It's a common decision for Emissaries with no pack. We don't recommend it for you, since you haven't completed your training.”

Stiles paled. “So everyone is going to see them? Where else do I have to get them?”

Deaton sighed. “You will need a sleeve tattoo. On both arms. A trail on your collarbone, and your back.”

Stiles wiped his face with a towel (he was sweating horrendously) before shrugging his shirt back on. “Is there some kind of druid motorcycle gang I have to join, too? Druid 101 on how to be a bad boy?”

Morrell narrowed her eyes at Stiles. “How do you feel, Stiles?”

Stiles opened his mouth to say _fine_ , but the word stuck in his throat. Ever since he'd woken up, he felt... low. Down. Everything was darker, sadder, morbid. The worst part was that he couldn't rationalise it, it was just how he felt. “Horrible,” he replied, surprised by his truthful answer.

Morrell nodded. “That's the tattoo.” She picked up an old, barely-held-together, leather-bound book from the steel bench. “You need to study.”

Stiles pulled a face. “Seriously? Reading? Not, like, teaching me how to sprout trees from the ground?”

“You need to take small steps, Stiles. Taking on too much will either not work, or kill you. Read this, and we'll talk tomorrow.”

Stiles sighed and took the book. It felt like it would fall apart in his hands. “Great. Can I go back to school now?”

Deaton nodded, and Stiles walked out, after a half-hearted _thanks_ , towards the truck, not checking to see if Derek was following him. He wasn't.

Stiles was resting his ankles on the dashboard when Derek came out two minutes later. He raised his eyebrows at the Alpha. “What was that about?”

Derek didn't look at him. “None of your business. Are you sure you're okay to go to school?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “It's a tattoo, not an amputated arm. Stop coddling me.”

“I'm not coddling you,” Derek muttered. “Get your feet off the dash.”

Stiles sighed. “It's not like it's the Camaro. I so do not want to go to school,” he grumbled.

“You just said you wanted to-”

“Yeah well now I'm saying I don't want to. I just got a tattoo, and there's this insanely hot chick that won't stop creeping me out, and Scott's moping after Allison. I think I deserve a break.”

Derek shot him an unimpressed look. “You're going to school, Stiles.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

 

Derek found it ironic that Stiles had a fear of needles, given that, as a druid, he had to be tattooed at least ten times. Derek wasn't going to catch him every time he fainted.

Derek didn't miss the looks that Deaton and Morrell gave each other when Derek held Stiles against his chest, siphoning off his pain. It was instinct, to protect a pack member, to take their pain. That's what he told himself when Stiles screeched and passed out. That's what he told himself as he resisted the urge to brush Stiles' hair out of his eyes.

And it was completely unfair that Stiles had been working out. It was completely unfair that even though they were lean, slight muscles, they made him even more attractive. It was completely unfair that Derek could see but he couldn't bring himself to touch.

And it didn't help that Derek had a tattoo kink.

Once he'd dropped Stiles back at school, which was enough to shock into his mind that he was lusting after an underage _high-schooler_ , he headed back to his loft.

As soon as he pulled up, he smelled him. Peter.

Derek growled as he opened the loft door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Peter turned away from the window with an innocent look. “Just visiting my favourite nephew.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “I thought I changed the locks.”

“That's not enough to stop me,” Peter replied with a condescending look that Derek was well-accustomed to.

Derek sighed. “What do you want?”

“I heard some rather disturbing rumours that the Stilinski boy has become your Emissary.”

Derek didn't say anything. Peter wouldn't be there over rumours.

“So it's true?” he murmured. “That's worrying.”

Derek growled. “Don't care.” He pushed past his uncle to the kitchen.

Peter followd him. “You know about the boy's mother, I presume.”

Derek froze and turned around slowly. “How do _you_ know?”

Peter shrugged. “I have my ways. I also happen to know that this boy is unusual, and that's not exactly a good thing when it comes to his kind. Does he know about his mother?” He studied Derek for a few moments. “No, I didn't think so.”

“What do you want?” Derek barked. He had gotten sick of the conversation before it had even started.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “How do you think the boy will react when he realises that his mother had the spark? When he realises that you've kept that very important piece of information from him? His Alpha, keeping secrets... never mind that the boy has been pining after you for as long as I've known him. He'd be upset, sure, but what happens when an unstable, untrained druid gets upset, Derek?”

Derek opened his mouth to ask the one question Peter was wanting him to ask, judging by his knowing smirk. _Stiles has been pining after me?_

But he stopped himself, because there were more pressing matters. “What are you trying to say, Peter?”

“It'd be a shame if Stiles found out, wouldn't it?”

Derek almost rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Blackmail?”

Peter smiled, and it sent shivers down Derek's spine. “I'm just looking out for you, Derek. We're family.” He walked towards the door, turning his back on Derek and ending the conversation.

Leaving Derek with conflicting feelings and a bad taste in his mouth. He hated being blackmailed, but being blackmailed by Peter was the worst. He was always one step ahead of you, always keeping knowledge to himself to benefit himself.

And then he felt the familiar tightening in his chest, the one that bonded him to other pack members. He waited for it, and then he got it: a rush of emotion.

Sorrow. Intense sorrow. It washed over him in waves, ebbing away slightly with each one.

Derek reached to grab his keys when he remembered that depression was a temporary side-effect of the tattoo. So he'd have to expect an emotional rollercoaster from Stiles.

He still wanted to go and see him, but he forced himself to send a text instead.

**Derek:** _Everything okay?_

**Stiles:** _No. Stop with the empathy shit._

Derek sighed and was about to reply when his phone started ringing.

“Hello?”

“Derek?” someone whispered.

“Cora?”

“Derek, I can't talk for long. I-” she cut off abruptly, and Derek could hear her heart beating frantically _over the phone._

“Cora, where are you? What's happening?”

“Someone's after me, Derek. I don't know who, but they... they've trapped me in-in a house, and I can't-” Derek heard his younger sister sob. “I can't get out, Derek!”

“Cora, where are you?” Derek asked slowly, urgently.

“I... somewhere in... San Diego. Derek, he's gonna kill me!” She sounded terrified, and Derek could feel his claws unsheathing.

“Cora, listen to me. Leave me a trail, you hear me? If he takes you anywhere, leave me a sign. And fight him.” Derek couldn't breathe properly. His breath kept hitching in his throat.

“Derek?” Cora whispered again.

“Yeah?”

There was a crash in the background, and Cora whimpered. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Cora. I'm coming to get you. I'll find you, Cor.”

Cora laughed, breathless, shaky, and full of pain. And then the line cut dead, and Derek saw red.

Someone had his sister. His sister, who he had only just gotten back. Someone was going to take her from him again, the only Hale left that Derek loved.

This was Cora. Steely, determined, impulsive _Cora_ , his little sister.

His phone was ringing again, but he couldn't answer it. He knew he should, because it could be her, but he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't move for fear of wolfing out.

He dug his claws into his palms, curling his fists, focusing on the pain. The red in his vision subsided a little, but he was still on the verge of shifting.

His wolf senses were in hyper-focused on everything, so he noticed when he heard someone's footsteps thud on the stairs, and someone's puffed breath. Their anxiety, their fear, their panic (or was that his?).

And then there were hands gripping his shoulders, and unfamiliar red eyes staring into his own. They flashed from red to brown to red and Derek focused on that, and the grip on his shoulders, and the breath of the person in front of him, fanning over his face. And the scent of _Stiles_.

He calmed down enough to realise that Stiles was speaking. “-just look at me, into my eyes, Derek, come on. I need you to slow your breathing. Deep breaths, in, and out. Derek, focus! Look at me, and breathe...”

Derek tuned into his chatter and found his claws retract from his palm, which was already healing. His breathing evened out, and he realised that he was still staring at Stiles, who was staring back with wide eyes.

He didn't look away. “Thanks,” he breathed.

Stiles nodded slowly, still staring at Derek. “No problem,” he squeaked. “I was in the middle of English, and then I felt it, and I tried calling you, but you weren't answering, and I thought...” he stopped and brushed a hand through his hair. “Anyway, you're okay,” he said with a relieved smile.

Derek blinked at him, only just realising how close their faces were. If he leaned forward, just a little, an inch or two...

He shook the thought away and stepped back. “It was Cora,” he choked out.

Stiles frowned. “Cora? Is she okay?”

Derek couldn't speak, not around the lump in his throat, so he just shook his head.

Stiles' face softened in sympathy, and it was so hard to look at. The boy wore his emotions clear on his face. “What's happened? Derek?”

Derek looked at his hands, now claw-less. “She rang me. Someone was after her. They had her trapped in a house. She...”

Stiles nodded and gripped Derek's arm in his long-fingered hand. “Where?”

“San Diego.”

Stiles tilted his head for a second, thinking, and it reassured Derek. Stiles was the thinker, the plotter, the man with a plan. He had the ideas, and he could sort something out. Derek, however, waas itching to get out there, to find her.

Stiles' grip on his arm tightened, and Derek could tell Stiles was feeling his impatience. “Derek, wait. San Diego- that's an eight hour ride, right? Seven, since we're in a hurry. We'll get Scott and Lahey, and head down there, sniff her out. We'll find her, Derek.” He looked up at Derek with earnest eyes. “I promise, we'll find her.”

Derek looked away and grabbed his keys. “We have to go, now.”

“Whoa, big guy, slow down. Rushing into things just makes it worse. We'll grab Scott and Isaac, and get some food and gas, maybe find a better car-”

“I'll get the Camaro.”

Stiles' eyes widened, but he just patted Derek on the back and walked towards the door. “I'll be back in fifteen, okay? Just... calm down, and figure out a plan. And try not to wolf out and tear me to shreds when I get back.” He disappeared out the door, and Derek put his head in his hands, breathing slow and deep and controlled, as the footsteps faded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so everyone loves Cora, she's just amazing and she should never have left the show. You guys are awesome, don't forget it. Hey, if someone wants to draw some fanart of Emissary Stiles, I would love you forever, because I can't draw for shit :D


	5. My Only Distraction Is This Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word "distraction" is common in this chapter, so that's why I named it that (from Suddenly, by k.d lang, which I haven't listened to) Really, it's just a really tense road trip.

Stiles made it back in ten, with Scott and Isaac in tow. They, of course, had been eager to help, though Stiles suspected it had more to do with the chemistry exam they were meant to sit later.

As soon as he opened the loft door, his tattoo hummed uneasily. He saw Derek standing there, in the middle of his barely-furninshed loft, still in his same clothes, which were sort of all bloody from when he'd clawed himself.

Stiles cleared his throat. “So... um, Derek? Buddy?”

Derek looked up at him. His eyes resembled that of a cornered dog, flightly, panicked. Stiles could feel his anxiety, and sympathised. The man had just gotten back his sister, for her to be taken again.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek, but he just glared back. “Can we go?”

Stiles had expected more of a demand than a question, but nodded anyway. “Yeah. It's just... arre you sure you don't want another shirt?”

Derek pushed past him and out of the loft. Stiles could feel the growing tension, building and coiling like a spring. He glanced at Scott and sighed. Two Alphas, one Beta, and Stiles' ADHD, all in one car? For seven hours?

As soon as Stiles spotted the Camaro, he smiled. It was weird how comforting Derek's car was, but the truck he'd been driving around was, in Stiles' opinion, a piece of shit. An exspensive piece of shit.

Scott made his way to the passenger seat when Stiles caught his arm. “Maybe you should sit at the back with Isaac,” he said. “You know, since...”

Scott nodded. “The Alpha thing.” he grumbled. “It's kind of annoying me.”

Stiles squeezed his shoulder sympathetically, and got in the car.

He knew, without a doubt, that the next seven hours would be tense and awkward at best, and he wasn't sure how to deal with the Alpha animosity between Scott and Derek, but it would be left up to him, since Isaac wasn't big on social norms.

Derek started the car, and Stiles almost had a mini panic attack, he was going so fast.

“Hey- uh, Derek? I don't mean to, you know, interrupt your brooding, but since I'm the only person that can't supernaturally heal from mortal wounds, do you think you could, just a suggestion, slow down a little?” Stiles let out a breath as the needle descended from 120 to 80.Isaac leaned forward and curled a hand around Stiles' seat. “So, what are the details?”

Derek's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “She called me. She's in a house, trapped, in San Diego. Some guy is after her. That's all I know.”

Scott leaned forward as well. “I thought she went back to South America.”

“She never got there,” Derek replied tightly.

Stiles' tattoo pulsed again, and Stiles really wanted to reach out and comfort his Alpha, almost like he could siphon off his mental pain like Derek could siphon off his physical pain. He wasn't sure if it was one of his druid powers, but he wasn't going to find out with Scott and Isaac in the backseat.

Stiles reached down and retrieved a jumbo packet of M&M's. Derek gave him a slightly offended look.

“What?” Stiles mumbled at him around a mouthful. “I'm hungry.”

Isaac sat back and crossed his arms. “So... Music?”

 

Of course Isaac had brought his iPod. So Derek had to put up with his techno-shit and Scott and Stiles bickering about Star Wars.

“But, dude! Chewbacca!”

“That's not really a convincing argument to get me to watch it.”

“You-” Stiles jabbed a finger at Scott. “You-” He sighed and gave up. “Just- watch it.”

He turned back to Derek with an expectant look. “What?” Derek asked defensively.

“Have you seen Star Wars?”

“No.”

“Jesus _Christ_! Isaac?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank _God_.”

Derek felt a pang of sorrow through the pack-bond, and glanced sharply at Stiles. He was staring at his lap, chewing his nails, his foot tapping dejectedly.

“What is it?” Derek asked him quietly.

Stiles looked up at him. “Huh? Oh, um, nothing.” He flashed Derek a convincing smile that was at odds with the emotions pouring off him, and Derek wondered if Scott could sense his best friend's emotions as well as he could.

“Stiles.”

Stiles sighed. “Morrell said I'd be a little depressed, right? Just ignore it.”

Derek inhaled a sharp breath. “Shit. We have to turn back and drop you off, Stiles. You need to get your second tattoo.” He went to turn the wheel when Stiles caught his arm.

“No, I'll be fine.” Derek gave him a doubtful look. “Seriously, Derek, I'm good.”

Scott chose this moment to speak up. “What's with you guys? You seem... close.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, and the sorrow filtered away. “Yeah, Scotty, maybe it has something to do with the fact that he's my Alpha and I'm his Emissary,” Stiles asnwered sarcastically.

Scott frowned, and Derek could feel the other Alpha's wolf twinge with annoyance. Obviously Scott had a problem with Stiles not being his Emissary.

“Yeah, but you looked freaked today in English, Stiles. I thought you were having a panic attack.”

Stiles' face softened at the concern in his best friend's voice, and Derek felt his affection for Scott. “Scott, I'm cool. It's because he's my first Alpha. Right, Derek?”

Derek squashed down the instinct to tell the truth, and hoped he could control his heartbeat around Scott and Isaac when he lied. “Yeah,” he grunted, keeping his eyes on the road.

 “It's just because we haven't really dealt with my kind before, outside of Deaton. And he doesn't like to share. Anyway, Isaac, your music sucks, so I'm going to throw your iPod out the window.”

And thus began a heated argument between Stiles and Isaac, with Scott trying to be the mediator, and Derek staying silent and annoyed.

For the next few hours, Stiles wouldn't shut up, instigating conversation with at least one wolf at a time, and Derek could tell it was to keep Derek's mind off Cora, since he tried to bring Derek into the conversations.

It was annoying, but Derek was grateful.

Until they stopped at a gas station, and Stiles offered to drive.

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

Stiles pulled a face. “Derek, I can feel how tired you are. I, however, am hyped up on about five coffees and my Adderall.”

“No.”

“Are there any other words that feature on your vocabulary?”

Derek rolled his eyes and tried not to reply in the negative.

Stiles gave him a calculated look. “You need to rest. You almost ran off the road a few times.”

Derek sighed, because he could feel Stiles' stubborness through the pack-bond, and he wasn't going to give it up.

Maybe he'd stop talking.

“Fine,” Derek snapped, throwing the keys to Stiles. “If you crash, I will kill you. I don't care if you're pack.”

Stiles grinned, and Derek was regretting it already. He could feel Stiles' excitement as he slid into the driver's seat. He adjusted the rearview mirror and the seat, and his grin wavered.

Derek was uncertain how Stiles was dealing with the tattoo and his suppressed powers. Obviously, he wasn't happy, and Derek was getting a sense of frustration and exasperation.

Derek didn't know what to do when he got into the passenger seat. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. His mind was whirring with an undercurrent of worry and barely-contained panic over his sister, despite Stiles' efforts to distract him.

Which were on hold. Scott and Isaac were asleep in the backseat, leaning on each other, their legs tangled together. And Stiles was silent, staring at the road, a contemplative expression on his face.

Derek needed a distraction, so he stared, fully aware of how creepy it was but fully aware that Stiles was zoned out, and wouldn't notice.

Derek studied his face from a side-on view, which gave him a good view on the curve of Stiles' nose, which flicked up in an elvish kind of way. His moles were facing Derek, paling his skin in contrast. The dark of the night and the purple light from the dashboard of his car painted shadows across his face, highlighting angles and planes and the soft lines of his face and jawline.

Derek's gaze travelled down, finding that Stiles' sleeve was bulging with the newly-acquired muscles, and his shirt was baggy around the torso, but Derek could picture the muscles there.

Isaac shifted around in the backseat, and Derek lost his concentration.

Stiles glanced over at him. “You should sleep,” he commented.

Derek ignored him. He couldn't sleep, not while Cora was in danger. His distraction was gone, and he was back to worrying.

Stiles nodded, like he'd just sensed Derek's thoughts. “I get it. Worrying about her, I mean. It doesn't help. But I get it.”

Derek gave him a grateful look, but didn't say anything.

Stiles continued talking. “We'll find her. Us four? Two Alphas, a Beta, and me? We're a force to be reckoned with.” His smirk didn't fool Derek, who could feel the bitterness from Stiles.

“Stiles,” Derek started. “What's wrong?”

Stiles shook his head and stared intently at the road. “Nothing, man, don't worry about it. We're focusing on Cora, right? One thing at a time.”

“You'll tell me, though? Afterwards?”

Stiles laughed. “Derek, wanting to talk about feelings? That's a drastic character development.”

“I mean it, Stiles. You're my only packmate, and you're my responsibility.”

“I'm everyone's responsibility,” Stils replied bitterly. “Get some sleep, Derek.”

Derek decided to do as he said; Stiles was his Emissary, anyway.

 

Stiles looked across a few minutes later to see his Alpha asleep. It was hilarious.

His face was smushed up against the window, and his mouth was half-open. He didn't drool, which was a disappointment, but it was cute how he pulled his knees against his chest and hugged them tight. Stiles guessed he liked to spoon.

He shook away the mental image because he was _driving_ , for god's sake, and he needed to not think about Derek's half-naked body pressed up against his-

Scott chose that moment to wake, and Stiles was thankful for the distraction. “Hey, Scotty,” he said quietly, but the other two werewolves were dead to the world.

“Stiles,” Scott mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “How long?”

Stiles checked his watch. “About, another half hour. We'll wake them up in ten.”

Scott sat up and detangled himself from Isaac. Stiles didn't miss how his cheeks went a little pink. “How the hell did you get Derek to let you drive? Blackmail?”

Stiles laughed quietly. “I have dirt on that man that would make him blush, but no. I just used my charismatic personality.”

Scott snorted. “What's it like?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Stiles glanced behind him briefly.

“Being apart of Derek's pack? What's it like?”

Stiles thought a while before answering. “He's a piece of work, I'll admit.” He looked at Derek, a smile tugging at his lips. “But I've learnt a bit about him. It's fun, kind of disconcerting. I suppose... we balance each other out? I mean, my loquacious nature and his brooding silence.”

“Loquacious?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Talkative.”

“Oh.” There was a small silence. “So... what about when you complete your training?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you've got all of your tattoos? When you can leave Derek?”

“I... don't know.” He sighed. “Our pack-bond is so strong at the moment, I can't really think about it. I feel all of his emotions. Do you know what that's like?”

“Pretty bad? I imagine he's the king of repressed feelings.”

“You have no idea. He feels so much, it's almost overwhelming.”

“It sounds like you care for him,” Scott noted quietly. “I can kind of sense it, too.”

“Shut up,” Stiles muttered. “It's the pack-bond.”

Scott laughed. “Stiles, I sensed it way before the pack bond.”

Stiles' cheeks reddened. “Oh my god, stop talking, before I shave off your eyebrows while you sleep.”

He pressed his hand down in the horn once, quickly, and Isaac and Derek jerked awake, swearing, their eyes glowing red and gold.

Derek glared at Stiles, who was desperately trying not to laugh.

“You're a moron.”

“We're nearly there. Can you smell her yet? Or do I have to open the window so you can let your head out?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could sense the emotion rolling off him, the tension, the anxiety, the fear, the panic. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Stiles noticed the other two doing the same.

Isaac's eyes shot open and he leaned forward. “I smell her.”

Derek frowned and opened his eyes. “She's hurt.”

Scott growled, low in his throat. “You need to turn left.”

Derek shook his head. “I know San Diego better. Keep going until interstate eight, turn left.”

Stiles sighed and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. The whol car was heavy with anticipation, and it was getting to him. The dullness, the morbidity that he had felt since the tattoo was starting to bother him. He'd read a little when Derek was driving, but he had been preoccupied with distracting him from brooding to delve deep.

“So, what do we do when we find her?” Scott asked, looking at Stiles.

Stiles glanced back. “Why are you asking me?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “You're the Emissary. You're the ideas man.”

Stiles snorted and looked over to find Derek staring at him expectantly. _Shit. They actually expect me to come up with a plan?_

“Give me a sec,” Stiles murmured, his fingers tapping out a faster, rhythmic beat.

“Okay,” he said after a while. “Once you think you've found the house that guy had her trapped in, we'll go on foot. We stay together, got that?” He gave them all hard looks. “I know it's weird with two Alphas and everything, but we're stronger as a pack. We stick together, you sniff her out. If she's still in the house, don't get close. We have no idea who has her, or what they're capable of. We plan a raid, break in, grab her, leave. She is the priority, not whoever took her.”

Scott and Derek nodded, while Isaac's mouth dropped open in surprise. “You... You make a really good Emissary.”

Stiles smirked. “My dad's a sheriff, Lahey. I'm pretty good at strategy.”

Derek gripped his arm. “ _Stiles_. Turn.”

Stiles yanked the wheel sharply, an inch from missing his turn, and continued down the road. Scott had the window down and was hanging his head out, and Isaac was discreetly taking pictures. Served Scott right. He shouldn't have poked his tongue out.

“Turn left here, _now_.” Scott yelled, pulling his head back in and glaring at Isaac.

Stiles complied, and, after a bit more direction, pulled up to what had to be the house Cora was talking about, at the end of the street.

It was basically a horror-movie poster, but Stiles had come to accept supernatural cliches. It was two-storied, dark, paint peeling and windows shattered. The whole house leaned down to the right, and it's open door seemed to taunt them.

Stiles did a U-turn and drove back around the corner. He stopped the car and reached out to grab Derek's arm. He'd already started to get out of the car. “Hey!”

Derek growled and shrugged Stiles off, but stayed seated. His eyes were red.

“Derek, we had a plan, remember?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek for a few moments, and Derek's eyes slowly leeched back to their normal green colour, reassuringly.

“Whoa,” Isaac breathed from the back seat. “You've got a death wish, Stilinski.”

Stiles ignored Isaac's comment and twisted in his seat to face the two boys. “Right. We all get out. You three sniff around, but _stay at a distance_ , do you hear me? If this is a hunter, he's probably got traps everywhere, so use all of your senses and be careful. You come back to the car if she's in there, do not go inside. We'll figure out a plan from there.”

“And if she isn't inside?” Isaac asked.

“Then sniff around inside, carefully.”

Scott nodded and they all got out of the car. Stiles moved towards Scott, by instinct, but there was a pull in his chest, where his tattoo hummed, and he looked back at Derek, who was staring at him with a pained expression.

“What is it?” Stiles asked softly.

Derek looked towards the house. “I need you to stay close, Stiles. You... you ground me. I'm so-” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I'm so close to wolfing out. I need you to stay close so I can protect you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at that, but when Deek opened his eyes, he gave him a nod. “Of course.”

Stiles wasn't sure how he could ground Derek. He knew that it was something to do with being pack, but his frantically-beating heart couldn't be helping matters, or the fear that must've been pouring off him.

Isaac wrinkled his nose, and then started down the road, looking over his shoulder to shoot a look at Scott, who followed.

Stiles stayed close to Derek, staying quiet and allowing for the small brush of Derek's hand against his shoulder, before Derek let it drop and took off down the road.

Stiles took a deep breath, willing his feet to move, because Derek needed him to stay close.

They neared the house, and Stiles felt a sharp jab of anger and desperation from Derek. “She's in there,” he muttered, looking at Stiles. Isaac and Scott stood at either side of them.

Stiles nodded, and was about to say something, when he heard a screech of tyres, a roar of anger or pain or both, and something big and strong and metal thudded into his side. He stumbled over, tripping on his own feet, and fell. The ground pull him down, and his head smacked the concrete. He barely had a second to register the pain until all he saw and felt was black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you should totally check out my other two works (have I said that already?). Loving the ego-stroking comments :D


	6. Doors Unlocked And Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I was meant to type and post this last night, but my friends and I had a movie night, and I've been neglecting them lately. This chapter was inspired by that episode in 3b where that crazy dude is gonna drill into Malia's head while the Nogitsune blackmails Stiles, y'know? Chapter title from a Death Cab For Cutie song

Stiles woke up to the smell of blood.

It made him want to retch, it was so strong, but he couldn't move.

He squinted his eyes open, wincing as the light flared up a headache.

_He'd been hit by a fucking car._

And now he was strapped to a chair.

It was like one of those dentist chairs, except his wrists were strapped to the arm rests with belts, so tight he could feel them tingling as the circulation cut off, and his legs were tied to the base of it. There was a large strap holding his torso to the back of the chair, keeping him in place. He couldn't even thrash around. He was completely and frustratingly immobile. And shirtless, which was disturbing.

He looked around the room, twisting his neck as far as he could. It was dark, but he could see the sky lightening from the dirty window in front of him.

His breath caught when he saw Scott and Derek standing in a circle of mountain ash, wolfed out and bloody. There was blood dripping from Scott's head, but the wound would've closed already.

“Hey,” Stiles croaked. Scott and Derek turned to him with panicked eyes. “So.. you know, the plan didn't work.”

Scott gave him a worried look. “Are you okay?”

Stiles tried to move his head, and winced. “Yeah. I'm in immense pain, and strapped to a chair, and the only people who could actually save me are trapped in a magical dirt circle. But I'm fine.” He was quiet for a second. “Scott, I thought you could break mountain ash circles.”

Scott slumped his shoulders. “Tried that. He dosed us up with wolfsbane. I'll have to wait a while to get it out of my system.”

“Speaking of, where is our psychotic host?”

Scott tensed. “With Isaac.”

Derek's eyes flashed red. “Cora knows we're here, she's been talking to me. He's a nutjob.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Really? You had to be told that?”

“I mean, he's human. He kidnapped Cora because he wanted to... experiment.” Stiles could feel Derek's fury, mixed with his own, and disgust.

Stiles pulled a face. “Aw, dude, gross. And he's _human_?”

“Most of the monsters are,” Derek replied dryly. Kate Argent immediately sprang to mind.

Scott growled, low in his throat, glaring at the door behind Stiles. “He's coming,” he said around a mouthful of fangs.

Derek moved to the edge of the circle, meeting Stiles' eyes for too short of a second.

The door flew open, and Stiles could hear huffing and shuffling. He craned his neck to see his kidnapper, but he couldn't make out anything until he moved in front of him.

He had to be in his fifties, with a receding hairline and dark grey hair. His features were strong and harsh, the labcoat he wore splashed and smudged with red and black.

He had to be strong, because he was tugging a comatose Isaac behind him. He gathered Isaac in his arms when he got to the circle and practically threw him in. Derek snarled at him while Scott dropped to his knees in front of Isaac, checking the beta over and assessing the injuries.

Isaac was shirtless, with deep gashes spewing black blood across his chest and stomach. His throat had a sickeningly large hole, right in the middle, but as Stiles watched, it already started to close up. Isaac's whole body was covered in sweat and blood and black ooze, and Stiles closed his eyes. He couldn't take in the image.

He heard the man, the scientist or whatever he wanted to call himself, walk up to him. He was breathing heavily from the exertion of carrying a werewolf, and Stiles could smell the meaty stench of his breath.

“Open your eyes, boy. I want to see what colour they are.” His voice crawled over Stiles, reminding him of Peter's creepy drawl, though this guy's was more hoarse.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut tighter, breathing hard. He was helpless. He was going to be poked and prodded and cut open and he couldn't heal, but that wouldn't matter to this guy. He'd push Stiles to his limits until his body finally gave out. The only thing Stiles could hope for now was that he didn't see Scott or Derek being torn open.

“Open your eyes,” the man urged again.

Stiles shook his head and turned away. “Don't- don't do this. You don't want to do this.” He was breathing hard and fast with panic, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

The man curled a meaty hand around Stiles' neck, and he gasped for a breath that didn't come, opening his eyes to see cold, blue eyes glaring back.

Stiles could hear Scott and Derek roaring in the background, but the blood rushing in his ears drowned it out. “What... What do y-you want?” he choked out.

The man let go and frowned. “What are you? Are you like them? Are you a werewolf?”

Stiles managed a weak, forced smirk. “I have-” He coughed weakly. “I have the right to remain silent.” The joke was weak, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try for some humour before he was killed.

The man's face cleared, and something dropped in Stiles' stomach, because this man's expression was terrifying. “First, we can see how well you heal.”

And suddenly there was a scalpel in his face, hovering close to his eyes, a concentrated look on the psycho's face. Anger and worry and desperation burst through the pack-bond, and Stiles' breathing quickened. He was on the edge of a panic attack, and his lungs weren't working, they weren't filling up, they were shrinking.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut again and a tear leaked out, because he was going to die, and his dad was never going to know what happened to him. He'll eat curly fries and cake to comfort himself, and he'd be all alone. Derek, Scott, Isaac, and Cora were going to live the rest of their lives (which might not be that long) as a crazy doctor's plaything, and Stiles couldn't help them because _he couldn't heal._

“No, no, no-” Stiles murmured. “Don't...” He almost pleaded, but he felt the cold, harsh bite of the scalpel against his cheek, and a wetness slide down his cheek. It wasn't deep, but he could feel the blade lightly brush down Stiles' body until it reached his chest. And then a long, slow slash, deepening. Stiles yelled out, his voice hoarse and cracking. Someone roared, and he opened his eyes long enough to meet cold, blue, gleeful eyes.

“Tell me what you are!” the man demanded, the blade doing deeper. “Or I'll start with one of them.” He jerked his head in the direction of Scott and Derek.

Stiles could feel his energy, his power, buzz in anticipation, waiting. It pushed at his chest, begging for release, screaming through his veins to let it out, to let it protect Stiles, to protect it's Alpha. But the power was strange. It was dark, too eager to hurt, leaping at the opportunity to be used.

His eyes flitted over Doctor Evil's shoulder and met Derek's red ones. Stiles felt a familiar surge of power between them, the power that he'd felt in the nemeton's basement. And then the blade stopped, right where he sensed his tattoo should be.

The man's eyes widened.

 

Stiles' screams were echoing in Derek's ears, and his wolf was raging.

Scott was trying desperately to push past the barrier, and Derek crouched over Isaac, watching as that man hovered over Stiles, taunting him, threatening him with the pain of his friends.

He felt Stiles' fear, his panic, and resignation. Sorrow and hurt and pain, and it was agonising to experience.

Derek's wolf roared, tugging him forward, even as the mountain ash pushed back. He couldn't lose Stiles, not when he'd lost everybody else. _Not Stiles, anyone but Stiles, Stiles had to be okay, he had to annoy him on the drive back, and be sarcastic and stubborn and funny and complete his training, and go to university, and force Derek to watch Star Wars._

So when Stiles started screaming, and Derek saw the scalpel buried deep in his chest, sliding across and cutting with surgical concentration, he almost collapsed. Anger burned deep in his stomach, doing nothing to anchor the wolf. If anything, it encouraged it.

Stiles opened his eyes, and cut off his scream, reducing it to a whimper. He looked straight at Derek, and Derek could see the tears in his eyes, the pain. But the brown flashed red, and Derek felt a spark of intense power. He couldn't look away, even as Stiles tore his gaze away and looked up at the doctor, who had stopped slicing.

Stiles strained against the belts around his wrists, and they snapped. Derek smelled the familiar scent of pine and earth, and the buzz of power that resonated through the air told him that Stiles was somehow channelling his energy, even with the tattoo that dampened it.

Derek looked away from Stiles' freed hands and what he saw took the breath from him.

Stiles' eyes were black.

The comforting, grounding, honey-coloured eyes were gone, and even the whites had flicked to black, an endless kind of black that made Derek's stomach turn.

Then Stiles smirked, and his hand came up between him and the doctor. The doctor was already backing away when he shot off his feet, falling back against the wall.

He struggled against an invisible grip, something unknown pinning him down. Stiles.

Stiles' hand was splayed out towards the doctor, his fingers slightly curled, the smirk on his face gone but his eyes still black.

“Derek,” he gasped in a strained voice, still strapped to the chair by torso and legs. The deep gash on his chest was pouring out blood, way too fast to be healthy. “I can't hold him for long.” Derek knew what would happen when Stiles' mojo ran out. He'd be tired, he wouldn't be able to fight back and free himself, and the doctor would start cutting into him again, this time with more curiosity, if a little vengeance.

Derek gritted his teeth and pressed against the barrier. “I can't, Stiles!”

Stiles was breathing hard and irregular. “Scott?”

Scott growled. “I'm trying.” He wasn't getting very far. The blue light of the mountain ash flared up, and Derek could feel Scott's pain and he pushed his palms at it. Isaac moaned from the ground, stirring.

And then there was a blur of grey and black, and suddenly there was a body covering the doctor.

Derek heard the tear of flesh, and a low, muffled growl, before the doctor's body was thrown at his feet. He looked up to see Aiden, blood dripping down his chin, eyes blue, and breathing heavily.

Aiden looked up at Derek with a grin only made sinister by the meat stuck between his teeth. “Looks like you needed some help.”

Derek looked back at Stiles, whose eyes had turned honey-tinted again, and were staring at Aiden in conflicted relief. He lowered his arm slowly, staring at the slumped and bloody mess where the doctor lay on the ground. Derek couldn't hear a heartbeat, and felt slightly irritated that the human had such a clean death.

Stiles looked down at his chest and winced. “Jesus,” he said weakly. His heartbeat stuttered.

Aiden was at his side in an instant, slicing at the strap around his torso and legs with a careful claw. Stiles fell into his arms, weakly clutching at the back of Aiden's shirt, crying out at the movement.

Derek could feel how serious the injury was. It was healing, faster than a human's injury, but not as fast as a werewolf would, and he was losing a lot of blood.

Derek retracted his fangs and caught Aiden's eye. “Get him to a hospital,” he ordered.

Stiles twisted around in Aiden's grip. “No,” he protested weakly. “Let me break the circle.”

Aiden supported him gently, guiding him to the line of mountain ash, and he leaned down, right beside Derek, his breath filling the air around him in ragged bursts. He looked right into Derek's eyes as he swept a hand across the line, and the individual grains of ash parted compliantly.

Derek was at his side in an instant, holding up his other side. “Where's Cora?” he asked Aiden.

“Ethan's got her in the car. She's unconscious, but she looks like she's healing. They should be driving back to Beacon Hills now.”

Derek nodded, relieved and grateful, but the thank you's would come later, once Stiles was okay. Derek almost buried his face into Stiles' neck, just to inhale that spicy sweet smell of Stiles, to sate his wolf, but he didn't. Not while Stiles' chest had been slashed open.

“S'okay,” Stiles mumbled. “I'm good. No hospital.”

Derek tightened his grip around Stiles' waist. “Shut up. Hospital.”

Stiles groaned. “I don't want to. It's healing, I can feel it.” He sounded kind of drunk, slurring his words in a light tone.

Derek pressed his side against Stiles', and looked back to see Scott struggling with Isaac. He jerked his head at Aiden. “Go help Scott,” he ordered.

Aiden slid from under Stiles' arm, and Derek held him firmly. “We have to get you to a hospital, Stiles,” he said gently.

Stiles shook his head. The scar on his cheek had stopped bleeding, and Derek watched as the skin slowly knitted back together. “They'd just ask... ask, uh, ask questions,” he puffed out. His eyes fluttered shut, and Derek shook him lightly.

“Stiles! Stay awake. Keep your eyes open,” Derek ordered, but it came out pleading.

Stiles smirked. “Yeah. 'M tired.”

Derek pressed his fingers against Stiles' wrists, drawing away the pain, tensing as it came at him in intense waves.

Stiles relaxed, then twisted his head to see the black veins on Derek's arm. He swatted Derek's hand away. “Stop that,” he snapped, sounding more lucid.

Derek ignored him and lightly touched Stiles' chest, just above the gash, resuming his pain-siphoning.

He dragged Stiles outside, and the morning light hit him. For some reason, it made him feel better. The early-morning birds twittered happily, and the air held a refreshing tone.

Derek wished Stiles hadn't parked so far away, because that left a long walk, holding up an almost-unconscious teenage boy with a life-threatening injury that was spilling out blood. The blood was smeared across Stiles' chest and jeans, and it was getting all over Derek's shirt.

And of course, being the suburban neighborhood, people were already awake, checking their mailboxes and taking out the trash.

So they all stared, wide-eyed, as Derek and Stiles made their way to the car around the corner.

A light-haired, green-eyed man in his mid-twenties and a bathrobe ran out, stopping in front of Derek.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” he said with a concerned look. A middle-aged woman came up behind him, looking frazzled and panicked.

Derek shook his head. “That's what I'm doing.”

The woman fished around in her pockets, and took out a phone. “I'll call an ambulance.”

Derek growled, too low for them to hear. “That's not necessary.”

“He's got a fast car,” Stiles mumbled, peeking at the couple under heavy lids.

The man took up Stiles' other side, and though Derek was grateful, he felt a surge of irrational possessiveness. He could take care of his pack without help.

“Yeah, I can get there quicker,” Derek agreed, while he and the man shuffled down the street.

“Who did this?” the woman asked, her eyes betraying her suspicion towards Derek.

Stiles laughed weakly. “A wild animal.”

The man looked down at he gash. “You're lying. It's too clean of a cut.”

Stiles turned to look at him appreciatively. “You're perceptive,” he mumbled. Derek could tell he was struggling to stay conscious.

The woman glanced behind Derek and gasped. Derek could hear Aiden and Scott bringing out Isaac and following them. “I'm calling the police,” she announced.

The man looked back as well. He swore. “What the hell happened to you guys?”

Derek didn't answer. Stiles did. “None of your business.” He gave the guy a weak smile. “Sorry. Nothing illegal. No need for cops.”

“That doesn't sound too convincing.”

Derek glared at the man as they reached the Camaro. He left Stiles clinging to him and opened the passenger door.

“Shouldn't we lay him on the back seat?”

Derek huffed out a breath through his nose. “Not enough room,” he replied stiffly, inclining his head to Isaac, who was still passed out in Aiden and Scott's arms.

The man gave Derek a doubtful look and tightened his grip on Stiles. “How do I know you didn't do this?”

Stiles made a weak noise at the back of his throat. “Nope. D'rek's good. He's cool.”

“Is he your brother or something?”

Derek couldn't believe this guy was idly chatting with Stiles, while he bled out on the concrete.

Stiles shook his head. Derek started forward, but the man fixed him with a look, obviously thinking Derek was a threat. Which, if he didn't let go of Stiles, Derek would be.

“Boyfriend?”

Stiles barked out a weak laugh and looked up at Derek, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a cheeky grin. “If you like.”

Derek glared at Stiles and pulled the man away, bundling Stiles into the front seat and reaching across to buckle the seat belt. “You're a moron,” he whispered.

Stiles coughed, and then winced. “Yeah, how 'bout you punch me when I'm all patched up?”

The man cleared his throat. “I don't feel comfortable leaving him with you.” The woman nodded in agreement, but moved to open the door for Aiden and Scott. Once Isaac was laid out in the backseat, his injuries obviously more severe than Stiles.

Scott turned and flashed the two humans a dimpled, charming smile. “Thanks for the assist, guys, but we've got it from here.”

The man looked slightly reassured, but he moved up to to the passenger door, inching in front of Stiles. He gave Stiles a smile. “Call me when you get better, okay? Just so I know. I'll be in the phonebook.”

Stiles opened his eyes and breathed in deep. “What's your name?” he croaked out. Derek gritted his teeth and hoped the man would move away so Derek could start taking Stiles' pain away again.

“Parrish. Jordan Parrish.” He gave Stiles another smile, concerned. He backed away.

“Stiles,” Stiles replied, closing his eyes again.

Derek closed the door and made his way to the driver's side, ignoring Parrish and the woman. Scott and Aiden were on either side of Isaac, both leeching his pain away.

As soon as he started driving, Stiles coughed out a laugh. “Guess what I felt?”

Aiden let go of Isaac and reached around the seat to take Stiles' shoulder, and his pain.

“What?” Derek asked, flashing a look at Stiles.

He grinned. “Jealousy.”

Scott snickered from the backseat, and Derek shot him a glare before looking back at Stiles. His wound was starting to heal, the bleeding already ceased.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well, thanks to Aiden's morphine mojo, pretty alright.” He was silent for a moment. “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought the tattoo was meant to take away my powers temporarily?”

“So did I.”

Stiles sat up and winced. “So why-”

“Your eyes were black,” Scott blurted out. Derek gave him a dark look and he shrugged apologetically.

“What?” Stiles squeaked out. “ _Black_?”

Derek nodded grimly. “Completely black.”

Derek could feel how disturbed Stiles was. “That doesn't sound like anything good.” He hesitated. “Did it look cool?”

“Badass,” Scott reassured, but Derek heard how his heartbeat sped up, and knew it had freaked him out as much as it did Derek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to put Parrish in there! He's a cutie, and I love him. I'm not sure if I'll be able to post one chapter a day this coming week, because I have exams, so if you find I am posting a chapter a day, tell me off, because I should be studying. I should be studying now, actually.


	7. Tattoed Attitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Inc. Ink (no, I haven't listened, but dayum I love the title). Exams suck. Like, holy Jesus, my fingertips hurt from gripping the pen too tightly. Anyway, I like this chapter. It's sassy and Stiles-y.

The drive back home was tense.

Stiles knew it was his fault. He was the provider of comic relief. He cracked jokes when the tension became unbearable. It was one of his endearing traits.

But his eyes went  _ black _ . Not to be racist, but magic + black = black magic, and black magic was never good.

He flipped through the book that Deaton had given him distractedly, fully aware that he hadn't taken any Adderall lately, fully aware that the dull, thin ache in his chest was flaring up, slowly, irritatingly. There was only so much werewolf-morphine could do.

The silence in the car was heavy with awkward, I-can't-believe-we-all-survived-so-lets-have-some-quiet-inner-reflection-time, vibes, that usually Stiles would be more than happy to break, but his thoughts demanded to be thought, as dark as they were.

He was just in the middle of an internal debate on the relations of black eyes and demons when Aiden kicked his seat. “Stop it.”

Stiles twisted around to face him, wincing as the movement pulled on his almost-healed injury. “Stop what?”

Aiden pulled a face. “Thinking. It's annoying.”

Stiles gave him a look of disbelief. “Thinking? Really? Well, I'm sorry that some of us don't possess the cognitive function to process experiences into a steady stream of thought.”

“Not exactly steady,” Derek grunted.

Stiles pointed a finger at him. “You. Not helping.”

Aiden sighed. “Yeah, but you feel things with your thoughts. It irritates me.”

Stiles raised his eyesbrows and gave Scott a look.

“Sorry, man, but you do.”

Stiles huffed and sat back in his seat. “And what are my emotions, then?”

“Nothing postive, ever since you got that tattoo,” Scott replied.

Stiles scowled down at the three lines. “Fat lot of good it did.”

“It saved our lives,” Derek pointed out.

“Yeah,” Stiles responded uncertainly.

“It adds to your insufferable moods, though,” Isaac piped up.

“Ah, Mr Comatose has decided to join the land of the conscious with a witty joke! Dramatic entrance, there, Isaac. Good to see you're not brain damaged. More,” Stiles chirped sarcastically. Now that they have forced him to break his silence, he didn't seem to be able to stop.

Isaac winced as he sat up. His wounds had closed an hour ago, which Stiles had been mildly bitter about as he was forced to deal with his pain longer. “You're an ass,” Isaac commented.

“Not even going to dignify that with a response,” Stiles muttered, flipping through the pages again.

After another hour cooped up in the car, reading through his Druidry 101 book while Scott and Isaac talked about some unimportant high school thing and Derek and Aiden sat in twin-like brooding silence, Stiles was pissed. And he didn't even know why he was pissed, he just was. It was like he had no control over his emotions, and it annoyed him half to death. He felt pissed, then he was pissed because it was irrational that he was pissed, and then he was pissed because his brain hurt thinking about why he was pissed and where the root of  _ pissed _ came from.

He wondered, briefly, if that's what it was like for women on their non-lycanthropic, monthly murdering spree.

“Stiles,” Derek barked out.

“What?” Stiles snapped defensively.

“You're doing it again.”

“Well, I'm sorry for not being an emotionally-repressed asshole like you,” Stiles bit back.

Isaac snorted. “You must be in a bad mood. Your sarcastic remarks aren't even witty any more; they're just weak.”

Stiles held back a  _ you're just weak _ retort, because that would not go in his favour. “Yeah, well spending hours stuffed in a car with four werewolves while I slowly and agonisingly heal and deal with the fact that  _ my eyes turned fucking black _ is bound to put anyone in a bad mood, Lahey.”

Scott reached across and touched Stiles' shoulder, drawing away some pain, since Aiden had taken a break a while ago. “You're on edge. You're distressed. Stiles, this tattoo thing isn't helping at all.”

“Deaton said it's supposed to make sure I don't implode with magical fairy dust before my next one. I don't know Scott, we aren't experts at this sort of thing, and Deaton prides himself on being mysterious, which isn't helping anyone but himself.”

The car fell silent for a bit, and Stiles used it to start reading again. It was interesting stuff, but Stiles found his eyes wandering off the page before he could even finish his paragraph. He sighed and closed the book. It would have to wait until he'd taken his medication.

Derek gave him a concerned, mother-hen look, that Stiles pointedly ignored.

Stiles dug out his phone and did something he should've done a few hours back, actually. He called Deaton.

“Stiles? Where are you?”

Stiles winced inwardly. He had forgotten to tell Deaton, or his dad, where he was going. “Yeah, uh, impromptu road trip? A life-or-death situation, as per usual.”

Deaton sighed. “How are you feeling? You're overdue for your next tattoo.”

“Yeah... about that...” Stiles gave him a paraphrased run-down on what had happened, kind of freaked out that Deaton stayed silent, as if he'd just walked away.

“This is... troubling.”

“Troubling? I am out of my fu-reaking mind!” Scott mouthed ' _nice save_ '.

“Stiles, the first thing you do when you get back to Beacon Hills is come and see me. Don't do anything drastic before then. Stay away from stressful situations.” He paused. “And call your father.” The line went dead.

“That motherfucker.”

“Hey! That's my boss you're insulting.”

“Well, if he wasn't such an enigmatic ass, there would be no need for insult.”

Aiden sighed. “Do you guys always act like such children?”

Stiles spun around and glared at Aiden. “Your input was not necessary.”

“Stiles,” Derek began.

“What?”

“You need to calm down. I think it's the tattoo. It's making you-”

“A pain in the ass?” Isaac smirked. “He doesn't need a tattoo for that.”

“Shut your mouth, Lahey.”

“-testy,” Derek finished, with a glare at Isaac.

“I'm beginning to think this thing does more harm than good,” Stiles muttured.

Derek nodded. “I definitely have to talk to Deaton about that.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why would  _ you _ do that?”

Derek sighed. “Because I'm your Alpha, and because your emotions are driving me insane.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and rang his father. After a long conversation about how grounded Stiles was going to be when he got back, interrupted by dodgy cellphone service, they were half an hour away from Beacon Hills, and Stiles was exhausted.

 

Derek restless. And Derek was barely ever restless.

It was Stiles' emotions messing with his own, and it was annoying the fuck out of him. It was overwhelming, considering how much Derek held back of his emotions, and how much Stiles let go of his.

Deaton's clinic was closed, so they let themselves into the back door. Stiles was still weak and almost dead on his feet, so Derek and Aiden had to hold him up. The exertion of getting out of the car pulled at his fresh scar, and it dribbled a little blood. Derek wasn't sure if Stiles was lucid enough to realise that Derek was taking away some of his pain. He had seriously down-played it in the car. He was still hurting, quite a bit.

Deaton was in the back room when they entered, staring at Stiles was a look of disapproval that annoyed Derek. Yeah, the kid was reckless, but he'd saved all of them.

Cora was sitting on the steel table, Ethan in the cornor of the room, and she gave Derek a weak grin. He set Stiles on the table next to her and made sure he could sit up on his own before hugging his sister gently. She was still healing. Cora had always been the slowest to heal.

She whacked him on the arm when he drew back. “You're an idiot.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes and gave Stiles a concerned look. “You come in, guns blazing, trying to rescue me, and it turns out the scrawny kid with ADHD is my Jesus.”

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered. “Loving the Hale-faith in me.”

Deaton examined Stiles' wounds gently, pressing his fingers against the tender skin of the scar. “How long ago did you get this?”

Stiles looked at Scott, who answered for him. “About seven hours ago. Six and a half.”

Deaton's eyes widened, which was strange to see on a man so composed. “The rate in which you heal is astounding.”

Stiles rolled his eyes wearily. “What can I say? I'm unique. Could you, y'know, ink me up or something before I pass out from exhaustion?”

Deaton frowned, but nodded, and gave everyone a measured look. “Could you please wait in the reception?”

Scott and Isaac left, and Cora slid off the table, wincing slightly. Aiden grabbed her shoulders to steady her, and she flashed her eyes gold at him. “Get off me,” she spat venemously.

Aiden raised his eyebrows and stepped away, holding out his hands to placate her. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek.

“What?”

“I think he meant everyone, dude.”

Derek sighed through his nose and followed Cora and Aiden out. Cora was tense and casting furious looks at Aiden, who was ignoring her.

Derek was angry at Aiden as well. Not so much Ethan, because the kid had guts to stand up to Kali and his twin for Derek, but it was still hard to get over the feeling of them both holding his arms up, forcing him in place while Kali...

“Derek?” Stiles' worried voice rang out from the back room.

Derek didn't answer. He shoved past Aiden and sat on one of the seats, pushing the memory down and focusing on his breathing. Cora and Scott gave him curious looks, which he ignored.

He heard Stiles' rapid breathing, but it didn't seem like a panic attack, so he let it calm him down. Deep down, he knew it was weird, using a pack-member's breathing as an anchor. He'd never done it with Isaac or Boyd or Erica. But something told Derek that his new pack would be different. Cora was his family, and Stiles wasn't even a wolf. Maybe a bunch of misfits what he needed.

His ears picked up Stiles' gasp of pain, how he gritted his teeth.

Scott frowned. “Is he alright?” he asked Derek.

Derek shook his head and focused. He felt, through the pack-bond, pain. Of course, getting a tattoo wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but it was more intense than it should be. Instead of being focused on one point in his body, it felt like it was spreading everywhere, through his veins.

A muffled yell of pain broke free, reluctant, as if Stiles had been trying to hold it in. Scott and Cora were up in an instant, but Derek was already at the door, staring into the back room.

Stiles was completely still as Deaton worked over his body with the needle, except for the straining in his neck and the heavy breathing.

“What's happening?” Scott asked, at Stiles' side in an instant, hands hovering over him, hesistant to touch.

Deaton was calm when he answered, even as Derek witnessed Stiles holding back another cry. “His body is going into a kind of magical shock. It's fighting the effects of the tattoo.” He didn't look away from Stiles. “Which is why you shouldn't have let him leave town, Derek.”

Derek bristled, ready to fight, but a warning look from Scott stopped him. “Can we... is it safe to take his pain?”

“No,” Deaton murmured. “It will hurt you even more.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair and winced as Stiles yelled through gritted teeth. Derek didn't know how he could stay so still. He could feel Stiles' pain, maybe not as much as Stiles could, but enough to know that Derek would be wolfed out by now.

Cora put a hand on Derek's shoulder. “Your bond is strong,” she commented. “I can feel it.”

“Special case,” Derek grunted.

“So he's a part of your pack?”

Derek nodded. He could smell a flash of anger from Scott, but it flared away pretty quickly, fading back into concern as he lurked around his best friend.

The tattoo took half an hour, and once Deaton stepped back, Derek could see why. He had tattooed a series of symbols across the line of Stiles' scar, curving down the shoulders and ending the circle on the other side of his first tattoo. The symbols looked Wiccan or something, and they were _red_.

For a sickening moment, Derek thought the red was Stiles' blood, but he realised, upon further inspection, that it was too dark, like a deep burgundy.

“Whoa,” Scott breathed.

Stiles opened his eyes. He was panting from holding the pain in. He looked down and his eyes widened. “Whoa.”

Deaton moved away. “Now, would you like to know what they do?”

Stiles looked up at him. “They do something?”

“They're concentrating your energy, Stiles. Every tattoo you get will do the same until your power evens out with ten of them. I told you that you could progress from ten, however. That increases your power, but it has it's risks. For now, lets just worry about your next eight.”

Stiles paled. “Will they all be that painful?”

Deaton gave Derek a hard look, which Derek returned with a glare. “No. You were in pain because you didn't get them in time.”

Stiles lightly traced the line of symbols. “So what do they do, then?”

“Essentially, they tune you in to your instincts.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Stiles asked, scowling.

“That's what I'm going to teach you.”

Stiles' scowl turned into a grin. “Sweet. Obi-Wan me.” He jumped from the table and let out a hiss of breath. “Anyone got a mirror? Or a shirt?”

Scott grinned and put a careful arm around Stiles' shoulders, avoiding the new tattoo.

“This means my street cred is better than yours,” Stiles pointed out as they left the room.

“How so?”

“I have way more ink that you.”

“Yeah but I got my tattoo first. First tattoo means more courage.”

“Nah-uh, sissy. It's not like you had a magical internal battle with yourself.”

“My tattoo was literally burned into my skin, Stiles.”

“Doesn't count- you're a werewolf.”

“Does so count!”

Derek sighed and walked after them, trying to hide a smile.

“You look happy,” Isaac noted from where he was sitting. Obviously he didn't do a good job.

Derek ignored his former beta and made his way to the door. Isaac jumped up and grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait a sec.”

Derek glared at the hand on his arm, and then at Isaac. “What?”

Isaac gave Derek one of his awkward smiles and took the hand off. “It's just- when you were my Alpha-” _Ouch, he brought that up._ “-we shared a pack-bond, right?”

Derek nodded, raising his eyebrows.

“And... well, I noticed- well, I felt- what you felt most of the time.” Isaac bit his lip. “I felt what you felt about Stiles.”

Derek growled and turned away. “Not now, Isaac.”

Isaac followed him outside. Scott and Stiles weren't there, they must've walked home. “Derek, it's hard not to notice how your annoyance turned to endearment. Erica and Boyd-” His voice cracked, almost imperceptively. “-noticed. And, well, now he's a part of your pack, and-”

Derek sighed and turned to face him. “Can you get to the point, Isaac?” No point denying it, Derek knew how reliable the pack-bonds were. He'd been able to sense Erica and Boyd's relationship before they could.

Isaac nodded. “I know I'm speaking for Erica and Boyd when I say that you deserve to be happy, Derek. No, really, I know how sappy that sounds but it's true. You deserve to _try_. Just promise me that you'll try.”

Derek stayed quiet, observing Isaac's nervously sincere expression. He'd be angry if anybody else had brought up Erica and Boyd, but Isaac understood the pain of losing a pack member.

“He doesn't feel that way about me, Isaac,” Derek replied quietly.

Isaac shook his head with a smile. “Are you as dense as you are brooding? Just try.”

Derek found himself nodding. “Fine.” He spun around and walked towards his car.

As soon as he was behind the wheel, and Isaac had gone back inside, Derek leaned his head against the steering wheel, wondering how pissed off Isaac would be when Derek breaks his promise.

_Shit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any inconsistencies, let me know. A round of applause for Isaac-Derek feels, because there should've been more of that on the show.  
> I would also like to say that there's going to be some season 3b and 4 elements in there, because 3b was my favourite and season 4 introduced Liam and expanded on existing characters (Parrish, Kira, Malia, Peter).  
> And thank you for all the comments, you guys are lovely people. I must bid you adieu, but, you know, check out my other works :)


	8. Too Close For Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: McFly. Thanks for all your comments :D

Stiles was doing a good job of hiding his tattoos. Until lacrosse practise.

His father knew about them, of course. He wasn't subtle in hiding his unease of having a tattooed teenage son, as if tattoos automatically convinced you to join a motorcycle gang and grow a beard. Stiles had tried that (the latter, not the former), but he didn't appreciate the crack-addict look.

But Stiles was advised, by Lydia, to keep them hidden at school. Since, you know, Miss Blake turned out to be a Darach and went around sacrificing innocent people (of which Stiles could've been one, being a virgin and all).

But it was pretty hard to keep them covered in the boys locker room, where all the guys went around only wearing towels wrapped around their waists.

Stiles took off his shirt without thinking, that was the problem. It was habitual.

“Nice tatt, Stilinski,” Greenburg commented appreciatively. 

Stiles scrunched his nose. Greenburg was no Matt Daehler, but he could still be creepy when he wanted to be.

Scott whipped his head around and stared at Stiles with wide eyes. “Cover it up!” he hissed.

Stiles gave him a look. “A little late for that now, Scott.” The whole locker room had fallen silent, staring at Stiles' half-naked body.

“What?” Stiles asked efensively. “It's just a tattoo.”

Isaac grinned at him, not his usual, cocky grin, but a friendly one, which was surprising. “Tattoos equate to instant sex-appeal.”

Stiles countered his grin with a smirk of his own. “Hey, Lahey, if you want, we can try making out for a minute, just to get rid of that sexual frustration of yours.”

“Stilinksi! Lahey! Save it for later, boys. Not that- I don't mean I have a problem with... you know, I mean, it's your lifestyle, I'm not-” Coach babbled uncomfortably.

Stiles was just about to put the man out of his misery when his phone rang. He scrambled to grab it from his jeans and slipped on a wet patch of floor. He whacked his elbow on the tiled floor and groaned.

Scott reached down and grabbed his phone, pulling Stiles up with his other arm. He handed the phone to Stiles.

“ _You need to get here. Now._ ”

The line went dead and Stiles glared at it, rubbing his elbow.

Danny laughed. “I guess those tattoos didn't give you magical powers of coordination, huh, Stiles?”

Stiles scowled at Danny and turned to Scott. “I'm not going.”

Scott gave him one of his looks. “Suuure you're not.”

Stiles struggled back into his jeans. “Damn right I'm not. If he thinks he can just order me about like that, when he knows I have lacrosse practise, he can get another fucking Emissary,” Stiles mumbled carefully, low enough that only Scott and Isaac could hear him.

Isaac crossed his arms. “Yeah. That's why you're putting your clothes back on, Stiles.”

“Just because you're put out that I have to cover this, Lahey.”

“It's Isaac.”

Stiles was already out the door, the Coach calling after him. “Whatever.”

He grumbled the whole drive over, thankful that lacrosse practise was at lunch so he wouldn't be missing English. Not that he needed to be there; he was the top of the class, because for all her homicidal tendencies, Jennifer was actually a really good teacher.

Once he got to the loft, expecting some kind of supernatural disaster that couldn't be solved with brute force, he found Cora and Derek scowling at each other, looking postively murderous.

“What is it?” Stiles gasped out, because, yes, he did rush there in a panic.

Cora glared at him. “Derek's being an unreasonable asshole.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, processing the situation and finding his breath. He straightened and gave them both a look of disbelief. “You called me, right before a lacrosse practise, by the way, to resolve a little Hale Family Feud?”

Derek turned to him, looking away from Cora. “You need to convince her to go to school.”

Stiles made his way over to the siblings, standing between them and facing Derek. “You've got to be kidding me.”

Derek glared at him. “At your school you've had Matt Daehler, and with him, the kanima. Gerard became principal. The twins enrolled. Jennifer was an English teacher.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Your point being...?”

“ _My point_ is that your school isn't safe. You've just become an Emissary to one Alpha, and you're the best friend of another. You're a target, Stiles.”

Stiles poked him in the chest. “Need I remind you that I was the one who saved your collective asses in the House of Horrors? I can take care of myself!”

Derek huffed out a breath. “I know that. But Cora-”

“-has better things to do than babysit a hyperactive douchebag.”

Stiles spun to face her. “Shut it. Not helping.”

Derek sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don't be difficult, Stiles.”

“Difficult? I am not a damsel in distress, and I'm certainly not in danger at school. Where there's Scott and Isaac.”

Derek crossed his arms. “Cora is a part of our pack.”

“And Scott is my best friend.”

“Scott gets distracted.”

“Whose to say Cora won't?”

“I say she won't.” He gave Cora a hard look.

Stiles sighed. He was obviously losing this fight. Cora huffed and walked off, slamming the door after her.

Stiles checked his watch. He still had ten minutes to argue his point. “Cora's right. You're being unreasonable. And you took me out of practise for this.”

“Sorry,” Derek muttered. Stiles glanced up at him, surprised. Derek didn't usually seem like the kind of person to apologise, even when he was in the wrong. Which, knowing Derek, was all the time.

“There's such a thing as hyper-vigilance,” Stiles replied softly. “You can't wrap us all up in bubble wrap.”

“I need to know that you're safe.”

“By sacrificing your sister to the horrors of high school?” Stiles retorted, even though Derek's words made his stomach flip.

Derek started to turn away, and Stiles grabbed his arm, because he felt like they were having a moment, and he didn't want to let go of it, even it was one-sided.

“How about you just trust me? As soon as something goes wrong, high school dramas aside, I will text you. Or call you.”

Derek relaxed a little bit, and then it struck Stiles why he was so protective, why he was so worried.

Derek's first pack was his family. And then his family burned, with the exception of Peter and Laura and Cora.

Laura died at the hands (claws?) of Peter.

Peter died at the hands of Derek.

Erica and Boyd were killed by the Alphas.

This guy had death and tragedy stuck to him like a shadow. He kept it all in, when he could, but no human being could keep it all in and stay sane.

Stiles lost all control of his body for a split second, and when he gained control again, he was hugging Derek.

His mind froze, because he was hugging _Derek Hale_.

 

Derek watched the light flash in Stiles' eyes, that familiar glint that told him that Stiles had just figured out something, though what it was, he wasn't sure.

Derek had been so completely focused in the expression in the teen's eyes, that he hadn't anticipated Stiles to bring his arms up and wrap them around Derek. His long arms reached right across and overlapped on Derek's back, and their chests were pressed together as if the space between them offended Stiles. _He really goes all-out on hugging._

Derek tensed. “Stiles?”

Stiles had stopped breathing. He must've been as surprised as Derek was. “Yeah?”

“Why are you hugging me?”

Stiles tightened his hold, and Derek could hear the grin in his voice. “Just go with it, dude. Hug it out.”

Derek's mind wasn't giving him a rest. One part of him, surprisingly, the rational part, told him to hug Stiles back. A hug was harmless, people hugged all the time. Stiles in particular.

But the other part tried to hold him back, and its reasons were so complex that Derek just ignored it, not bpthering to delve deep in inner reflection that wouldn't be welcome later.

He hugged Stiles back.

He hugged Stiles back, and it was amazing.

Derek didn't know how long it had been since he had hugged someone. Well, someone who wasn't ritually sacrificing virgins. Someone who was hugging him, not for their own gain, but for Derek's. Not a hug of goodbye, or a greeting. Just a hug.

And between their bodies, Derek felt the hum of the pack-bond, strong and electric, grounding him.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and pressed his face into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of spice and musty old books. Stiles relaxed and patted his back absent-mindedly.

“It's okay,” he murmured softly, quietly, almost to himself. “You don't need to worry about me.”

Derek pulled away first, and immediately regretted it. He looked away, because he wasn't sure if he could stand the look that Stiles would give him. The brotherly concern that he would give Scott, or pity. He wouldn't be able to stand that look when he wanted, he _needed_ , to see something else in Stiles' eyes.

“You should go. Lunch is nearly over,” Derek grunted, hating himself for sounding so cold and distant, but unable to stop it.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh- right, sure, man.” In Derek's peripheral vision, he could see Stiles reach out a hesistant hand towards Derek's shoulder, and then draw it back again. “I'll, um, I'll text you, okay? So you know I'm not dead.”

Derek nodded and raised his eyebrows at the teen, who still hadn't moved.

He spun around and walked out, after a light “see ya!”, and Derek followed the sound of his footsteps, how he tapped his fingers in the elevator, and jingled his keys.

He put his head in his hands and wondered how Stiles seemed to ground him and shake up his whole world at the same time.

 

Stiles wasn't an idiot.

He wasn't like all of those other smart, nerdy guys who didn't have a clue about relationships.

Stiles recognised the look in Derek's eyes when he'd said he needed to know Stiles was safe. Stiles recognised it because he'd felt it when Peter was walking up to Lydia on the lacrosse field, when Lydia was lying in the hospital bed, when Lydia was tied to the chair with a garote around her neck. Barely-maintained panic, mixed with a dash of hopelessness and affection.

His mind dismissed it the first few hundred times. Told him he was jumping to conclusions, that he was seeing things, but every time he played the moment through his head, it was undeniable: Derek cared for him. Maybe not in the same way that Stiles had cared for Lydia, but just as much.

Which was enough for Stiles to get detention for day dreaming in physics. Since the teacher supervising detention was Mr Yukimura, who had always joked around with Stiles and took a liking to him immediately, Stiles knew he could get away with a few texts.

 **Stiles:** _Life or death situation: detention._

 **Stiles:** _If you don't think that's life-threatening, you need to loosen your definition._

Derek didn't reply, which was expected. One hug didn't change a dude overnight, so Stiles was gearing up for a build-up to the pillow-forts and secrets shared and bonds formed over 'smores.

 **Cora:** _What did you do to Derek? He's acting weird._

Stiles swore under his breath. He didn't mean to make Derek feel weird. He didn't really think, he just hugged him. The guy needed a hug, he needed to relax. He was too worried about everybody else, and Stiles, now that he'd realised, could feel the underlying guilt that seemed to be a large factor in his Alpha's bond with him. But it seemed to complicate more than comfort. For one, Derek was, apparently, acting strange.

And for two, it brought up a clusterfuck of weird feelings that Stiles was so sure he had repressed successfully. He'd always been able to admit that Derek was hot, and even thought, as he came to terms with his bisexuality, of going _there_. But Derek only ever treated him with disdain and barely-contained exasperation, mainly never-contained exasperation. So Stiles dismissed that notion, and learned to calm his heartbeat around the Alpha, learned to school his features when he found himself staring at him. He was pretty sure that crushing on Derek helped him get over Lydia, but he thought that he'd hid it pretty well.

Well, Scott noticed. Which, kudos for him, since he wasn't exactly perceptive if there was no imminent danger.

 **Stiles:** _Nothing. Maybe it's the full moon._

 **Cora:** _The full moon was last week._

 **Cora:** _Idiot._

**Stiles:** _Well, take him out for an ice cream or something._

Stiles was just about to put his phone away, since Mr Yukimura had cleared his throat about five times and he didn't want the english teacher to develop some kind of throat infection, when his tattoos tingled.

Stiles had enough lessons with Deaton to know that the tingle meant danger, but not immediate danger. Immediate danger was channelled into a burn, right through the ink.

He whipped his head up and frowned at the sight. Jasmine (or Jezebel? Definitely Jezebel) walked in, giving Stiles a wide grin before sitting at the seat next to him. “Hey. What's your crime?”

Stiles was still frowning at her, wondering why she would be the cause of his tattoo-tingle. “Uh. Not paying attention.”

Jezebel snorted and rolled her eyes. “Lame,” she sang out. “If you're going to get punished, get punished for something good.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What'd you do?”

“I was caught smoking in the janitor's closet.”

Stiles smirked. “Liar.”

“Am not.”

“Your eyes twitched when you said that. It's a lie. I bet it was something super lame, like being late to class.”

“Still cooler than your reason, Stilinski.”

Stiles went back to frowning at Jezebel, who had turned to her books with a smile. Something wasn't right about her. She was pretty, and smart (judging by her AP algebra textbooks), and funny. And she was talking to _Stiles_.

Okay, that wasn't it, but there had to be some reason why Stiles' spidey-senses were tingling.

Jezebel turned and gave him another smile, and it hit him. _She was charming him._

And it wasn't her natural charisma, either. She was doing something to him, so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to feel it if he hadn't had those exersises with Deaton on how to read his instincts.

Stiles stayed calm, even though he knew he should be running. Because the ability to charm people? Probably a natural way to lure in prey, which meant that she was most likely some kind of cannibal or something.

These realisations took place within a few short seconds, and despite Stiles' outward cool, inside, he was panicking, and he knew Derek could tell.

 **Derek:** _What is it?_

 **Stiles:** _Not in immediate danger. Call you later._

The rest of the detention went by agonisingly slowly, as if every second was milking Stiles of what little calm he had left, because he was stuck in a room with some kind of evil succubus. A hot, amazing, bubbly succubus, who already had half the guys in the school eating out of her palm, and was obviously angling for Stiles, with the half-smiles and hair flicks she sent his way.

Stiles jumped up as soon as Mr Yukimura told them they could go, and reached the doorway just as Isaac ran into him.

He flailed, and his hand hit the doorframe, hard. He glared at Isaac. “What are you doing here, Lahey?”

Isaac pushed past him and gave Jezebel a shy smile. “Hey- uh, Jezebel? I was just wondering, I mean, you said you had to walk home after detention, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride?”

Jezebel flashed him one of her dazzling grins, and Stiles could feel the power of it from across the room. “Of course. Let me just say bye to Stiles.” She walked up to Stiles, and he fought the urge to run in the opposite direction.

She, slowly, leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Don't be a stranger, “ she whispered, looking up at him with earnest blue eyes. Stiles found himself nodding. She smirked and pushed a piece of paper into his hand, then waved to Yukimura and sauntered out, Isaac following her like a puppy.

Stiles blinked a few seconds, before he felt his anger push out. That bitch had tried to charm him.

Stiles' phone rang in his hand, and he left the class before answering it. He watched Jezebel and Isaac walk down the corridor, shoulders brushing.

“Yo?”

“ _Stiles? What the hell?_ ”

“Oh, hey, O Alpha. We need to talk. Dire situation in need of our urgent attention.”

There was a pause. “ _How urgent?_ ”

Scott came in from another corridor and joined Jezebel on her other side, trying to grab her focus from Isaac.

“Very urgent.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is connected O.o If anyone wants to draw up some fan art, I'd appreciate it <3 you guys rule


	9. Should Have Known Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cat snores and it's just too cute <3 Had a kind of shitty day, but all of your comments made me squeal like a fangirl. Because I am a fangirl. And this chapter is dedicated to my honorary sister Zeta-Rose, because she actually bothered to read my fics (and love them). Chapter title from Hinder

_Beacon Hills is becoming a very unattractive place to live in,_ Derek thought as Stiles babbled about the latest paranormal threat.

“So she tried to charm you, and it didn't work?” Cora asked, shifting closer to Stiles.

Stiles was visibly disturbed by the girl, Jezebel, and he dragged a hand down his face wearily, smelling of distress. “It works. It works on me, too, but it doesn't stick.” He gave Derek a panicked look. “I could feel it in detention. She's trying to wear down my defenses. I think it's working.”

Derek crossed his arms. “So you're saying that she temporarily charms you, but it wears off quickly, and the more she does it-”

“-the slower it will wear off.”

Derek turned to Cora. “You are definitely going to school.”

Cora opened her mouth to object when Stiles interrupted. “Cora? Are you completely straight?”

Cora closed her mouth and frowned. “Uh, _completely?_ No.”

Derek raised his eyebrows at his little sister. That was unexpected, but then again, he hadn't seen her for around ten years, so he figured that there was a lot she could still surprise him with.

Stiles let out a breath. “Then you can't go to school. She's got quite a few girls after her, too. I can't believe I missed it!” He tapped his fingers against his legs, his eyes dancing across the room distractedly.

Derek grabbed his shoulders. “Stiles, look at me. I need you to focus, okay? You need to stop freaking out.” He couldn't have his Emissary distracted when they needed him the most.

Stiles kept staring at Derek, who had subconsciously started rubbing his thumbs in circles, relaxing him until his breathing calmed down, and his eyes flashed purple.

Cora stepped back. “Stiles, your eyes just went... they just-”

“What colour?” Stiles asked her warily. “Black?”

Cora shook her head. “Purple.”

“Ah.” Stiles pulled away from Derek and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't sound very surprised, and Derek wondered what Deaton had been teaching him. “We need to call Allison and Lydia.”

Cora gave him a look, slightly embarrassed, kind of cheeky. “Allison isn't straight, either.”

Stiles' eyes widened with realisation. “Oh my god, seriously? Both of you? That is so ho-” He cut of with a strangled noise when Derek growled at him. “Okay. Lydia. Lydia?”

Cora shook her head. “I don't know. Ask her.”

Stiles nodded and took out his phone. After a few rings, Lydia picked up, breathless and annoyed. “ _What?_ ” she snapped.

“Are you straight?” Stiles blurted. Derek rolled his eyes and sighed at Stiles' bluntness.

“ _This is not the best time, Stiles._ ”

“This is the perfect time. We have a problem, and it involves your sexuality.”

Derek could hear Lydia sigh over the phone. “ _Yes, I'm straight. Obviously,_ ” she added, amused. “ _Why?_ ”

Stiles let out a breath of relief. “Thank god. We have a situation. Some kind of temptress. She charms people-”

“ _Jezebel Hagues?_ ”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“ _Makes sense. So she's been seducing the population of the school? What's her endgame?_ ”

Stiles scrunched up his nose in thought. It was sort of mesmerising to watch Stiles and Lydia interact, sharing thoughts and ideas. They were both, without a doubt, the smartest people Derek knew, and he had a hard ime believing that Lydia didn't reciprocate Stiles' feelings for her.

“That's what we're trying to figure out. I was thinking of getting Allison to snap Isaac and Scott out of it, but...”

“ _No, not Allison. Are you okay with it? How are_ you _not trailing after her like a lost puppy?_ ”

“Aw, Lyds, you're the only one for me, you know that,” Stiles joked. Derek narrowed his eyes, because since when was Stiles the kind to joke about his blatant love for Lydia, to Lydia?

“ _Stiles..._ ”

“She's affecting me, just... slower than everyone else.”

Derek heard Lydia swear, which was unlike her. “ _Stiles, if we lose you to her, we're screwed._ ”

Stiles blushed a bit at that. “Well, we've got you. You're straight, so it shouldn't affect you.”

“ _Where are you?_ ”

“Derek's loft.”

“ _Right. Aiden and I are coming around._ ”

“ _And Ethan,_ ” Aiden called from the background.

“ _And Ethan,_ ” Lydia confirmed. “ _Where are Scott and Isaac?_ ”

Stiles flopped onto Derek's couch, stretching his long legs over the armrest, splayed across like a sin. “She ditched them for Greenburg.”

“ _Ew._ ”

“I know. Scott was whining about it for, like, ten minutes. Just, get here, quick. Make sure Aiden doesn't get out of the car until you get here.” He paused for a second. “Tell him to close off his senses. She's probably using pheromones.”

The line went dead, and Stiles rested his head on the couch, closing his eyes. “This sucks.”

Cora gave him a small smile. “Yeah, but it isn't exactly unexpected.”

“I just want one day. One day. Stiles time,” Stiles moaned.

Derek tried to ignore the way the muscles in Stiles' neck stretched, how his long fingers curled around the edge of the couch. His mouth went dry at the thought of those fingers curling around something else, and Cora flashed him a curious look, which he ignored.

Stiles opened one eye and sighed. “So I'm officially putting you two under house arrest.”

Derek glared Stiles, who carried on, unfazed. “With Cora liking girls, and you liking girls -or should I say women?- then that doesn't really leave much open to negotiation. She could charm you before you can say “hey”, and I would prefer my Alpha and beta to have their wits about them. As few as they have,” he added with a smirk.

Cora growled at him. “You said so yourself, she can get to you, too,” she pointed out.

Stiles nodded, obivously uncomfortable. “I know. The scary thing is that I think she's targeting me.”

Derek clenched his jaw. “Then you're staying here.”

“As much as I enjoy Hale family game nights, I'm going to have to pass.”

“Stiles-”

“No.” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I have to find out what she is.” He sighed. “Let me just grab my laptop, and I'll look through the bestiary. She should be in there.”

“One of us should go with you,” Derek argued.

Stiles jumped up gracefully from the couch. “Nah, I'll be fine. Just ten minutes.” He gave them both a stern look. “If you follow me, I will trap your asses in mountain ash.”

He was out the door before they could respond, and Derek started after him. The moron was practically offering himself up as a chew-toy.

Cora jumped in front of him, a hand on his chest. “Derek, stop. Jeez.”

Derek pushed her hand away, but stopped. “We can't just let him go.”

Cora crossed her arms. “Yes, we can. Stiles is a big boy, he can handle himself. He's also your Emissary, and that means that you have to listen to him.”

Derek sighed. “It's recommended that I listen to him,” he corrected. “I don't have to.”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “What is it with this kid, anyway? Why do you care so much?”

Derek turned away. He was not going to have this conversation with his little sister.

She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around again. Derek flashed his eyes red, hoping it would make her back down and leave him alone, but she gave him an unimpressed look. “Stiles is a cool guy, I'll admit. So... do you have feelings for him? Or is it just attraction?”

“Cora, leave it alone. It's nothing, okay? Nothing.”

“You must think I'm an idiot. Your heartbeat spiked up, Der.”

“Drop it.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “I miss that skinny little dweeb of a brother that actually used his words to tell someone he liked them. Stiles can't read minds. I hope,” she added with a frown. Her expression softened. “He isn't Kate.”

Derek's heart stumbled at the name, because even after all this time, it was like a punch to the gut. The woman he loved, the woman who betrayed him and robbed him of everything. Derek would've gotten angry at anyone else, but Cora was one of the people he thought he had lost forever. “I know,” he replied softly. Stiles was Kate's polar opposite. Where she was cocky, confident, sly, Stiles was awkward, gangly, and earnest. Derek could never get the two confused.

Cora's eyes sparkled with the confession, and she gave Derek a smile. “So you _do_ like him?”

Derek groaned. “Cora, you make it sound like a schoolgirl crush.”

She poked him in the ribs, her grin widening. “That is just too precious.”

“What's precious?” Lydia asked disinterestedly, her eyes trained on Aiden, who had followed her.

“Derek's love life,” Cora replied, straightening and scowling at Aiden.

Lydia tossed her hair. “Well if his latest interest's name is Jezebel and she's a perky blonde with a killer smile, then I wouldn't be calling it 'precious'.”

Ethan came in after them, giving Aiden a concerned look. “Jezebel ambushed us outside Lydia's house. It turns out she's a few doors down.”

Derek frowned at Aiden. “She charmed him?”

Ethan nodded. “It was agonising to watch. She's ruthless.”

Lydia huffed and sat on the couch. “Ugh, she's so desperate.”

“Stiles has gone to get his laptop. She might be in the bestiary,” Cora told her.

Lydia eyed Derek. “Have you seen Jezebel yet? Or smelled her?”

Derek shook his head. “I'm not inspired to. You and Stiles are the only ones who can get close to her.”

Lydia's phone rang out, and she answered it with “Stiles?”

“Lydia, you have to get my laptop,” Stiles replied.

“I thought you were getting it,” Lydia replied, frowning.

“She's seen me. She was waiting for me, I think. I'm... I'm not sure if I can hold out against her.”

Derek's claws threatened to poke out, and he forced them back, reaching through the pack-bond and feeling Stiles' subdued panic, obviously repressed so that Derek wouldn't feel it. He reached over and yanked the phone from Lydia's hand. “Stiles, are you still with me?”

Stiles' breath rushed through the receiver. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm with you.”

“Will mountain ash work against her?”

“I guess. Worth a try,” Stiles replied, his panic subsiding.

“Trap her, or yourself, which ever works. We'll come get you.”

“No! Jesus, are you brain damaged? She'll charm you, idiot. Ethan can come get me.” The call cut off, and Derek swore, breathing hard and curling the phone in his hand.

Lydia put a hand on his arm and prised her phone from his hand gently. “Derek, I need you to calm down, okay? You're the Alpha, so you give the orders.”

Derek looked to Ethan. “Go. Get his laptop, too.”

Ethan nodded and walked out, and Derek pretended he wasn't as freaked out as he was.

 

Ethan found Stiles sitting in a circle of mountain ash on his front lawn, scowling at the beautiful blonde who was sitting across from him.

“Yo, Ethan. Come to bust me out?”

Ethan growled at Jezebel, before switching his focus to Stiles. “Yeah. Alpha's going crazy. Can you-” He gestured to the mountain ash.

Stiles shook his head. “Can you get my laptop first? Priorities.”

Jezebel flashed Ethan a charming grin. “Hey handsome. Fancy a chat?”

Stiles sniggered. “He doesn't bat for your team, Jez.”

Jezebel raised an eyebrow. “And who says I can't convert?” She looked Stiles in the eye, her cold blue eyes seeming to pick information out of Stiles' amber ones.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, thankful that Ethan hadn't stuck around. “So, since you're in a chatty mood, mind telling me what the fuck you are?”

Jezebel laughed, and it rang through the night, pretty and song-like. “Oh, but I wouldn't want to spoil the game, Stiles. I know how much you like to figure things out.”

“You don't know jack shit about me,” Stiles spat. He was seriously sick of this girl.

She shook her head. “Don't I? Recent rumours from the locker rooms suggest you're a druid. Powerful one, too, if that cute wolf with the puppy-dog eyes was telling the truth.”

Stiles willed himself to stay calm, and wondered how long it took for a werewolf to find his laptop. Seriously, it was right there, on his desk. “Whoop-dee fucking do, Nancy Drew. So you're a whore whose salary is dirt on other people. You have some serious daddy-issues that you should sort out.”

Jezebel's eyes darkened. “Watch your mouth, druid.”

“Or what?” Stiles taunted. Some rational part of him yelled at him to stop poking the lion, but he couldn't stop. “You gonna charm me? That's worked out real fine, hasn't it?” He was seriously glad for the mountain ash. It stopped her magical-mind-rape from focusing on him. He could feel it wash over him, but it couldn't get a hold.

“Well, I heard there's a certain Alpha that hasn't met me. I wouldn't mind getting on a first-name basis.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that.” He really hoped her powers didn't include supernatural healing, because his heartbeat sped up pretty quickly, and his power reached out to the pack-bond, feeling Derek's distress and anger. Great. When he got back to the loft, he was going to get an earful.

Jezebel was studying him curiously. “I wonder-”

“Stiles,” Ethan spat out, glaring at Jezebel. Open the circle.”

“Who's to say I won't grab him before you can't, wolf?”

Stiles crossed his arms indignantly. “I say.” He crouched down and swept a hand across the line, and then, shockingly sudden, he was being carried to the car, bundled in a werewolf's mucly biceps, leaving behind a very amused-looking Jezebel.

Once he was shoved into the car, the laptop thrust into his hands, he relaxed. Jezebel wasn't making any move on him.

The calm was swept away quickly when he realised that _Jezebel wasn't making any move on him._

“What's she waiting for?” Stiles murmured as Ethan sped through the streets.

Ethan gave him a sideways look. “Full moon?”

Stiles almost dismissed the thought, but it made sense. “That's not reassuring.”

Ethan tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and clenched his jaw. “She has to be stopped.”

“Is she affecting you?”

“Starting to,” Ethan grunted.

“ _Shit_.”

“Yeah.”

Once they got back to the loft, Stiles was assaulted.

As soon as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, a hand reached out and slammed his shoulder against the door, trapping him.

“Whoa, _Jesus_ ,” Stiles gasped, caught off guard. His magic rushed to soothe his panic, recognising his Alpha before Stiles did.

Stiles scowled at the scowl on Derek's face. “Don't do that.”

Derek's eyebrows were pulled together in a dark frown. “I told you not to go out there!” he snarled.

Stiles pushed against Derek, but he was unyielding. “Dude, get off me.”

Derek glared at him, which, seriously, was his only method of communication. “Stiles, she could've-”

“Could've what?” Stiles snapped. “Could've charmed me? Eaten me? Horrifically sacrificed me to the pagan gods?” He pushed against Derek again, and this time Derek actually took a step back, surprised by the anger in Stiles' voice.

“Ever since I was thrust into this world of werewolves and druids, I've been dealing with everything that comes our way. I understand that I'm not as strong as any of you are, or smart, but I do my damned best, and you'd better respect that.”

Stiles took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Getting angry wasn't helping.

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his shoes. “I'm sorry, okay? I just... I can handle myself. If I couldn't, I'd be puppy-chow by now.”

Derek looked like he'd just been punched in the face, adding to Stiles' guilt about exploding. Instead of apologising again, he walked past Derek.

Derek grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Stiles...” He looked completely lost for words, which shouldn't have been surprising. His face flickered between disbelief, anger, and confusion, and it only made Stiles angrier, though he didn't show it.

“Can you stow the chick-flick moment, guys? I feel like I've been bad-touched by a hot chick,” Aiden moaned, his head in his hands, sitting on the couch. Lydia whacked his arm and gave him a chilling glare. Cora flashed her eyes at him and growled.

Stiles pulled away and opened his laptop, setting it on the table. As it logged in, he drummed his fingers on the table, not meeting anyone's eyes, even though he knew they were all staring at him. An angry Stilinski was never a fun Stilinski, and the only people who knew how to deal with him when he was like this were either on duty, being seduced by a freaky blonde bimbo, or dead.

He navigated the depths of his laptop efficiently, clicking through innumerable folders until he found the one conspicuously named BESTIARY.

He scrolled through it for a few seconds, and then sighed and addressed the wolves -and Lydia- in the room. “This is going to take a while. I'm going to need coffee. Like, ten litres of it.”

Lydia sighed and went into the kitchen to make it, while Stiles jumped on Derek's bed, his back resting against the headboard and his ankles crossed comfortably. “The rest of you are still under house-arrest, by the way,” he said without looking up.

If anyone replied or protested to that, he wouldn't have noticed, because after half a second, he was immersed in the Argent-diary of creepy crawlies.

After a few hours, someone ripped his laptop away from him. Stiles held his hands in a frozen position, blinking at the loss of the screen. He looked up to see Cora smiling sweetly at him.

He glared at her. “I'm researching,” he stated obviously.

“It's morning.”

“And...?”

“And, you've been on that for eight hours. With no luck.”

“Hey, I'll have you know that-”

“You fell asleep for two hours, and then woke up and carried on clicking as if you hadn't noticed.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows, not wanting to let on that he hadn't actually noticed falling asleep.

“You need to rest. Eat. Or at least shower,” Cora said, wrinkling her nose.

Stiles threw Derek's pillow at her. “Har har.” He looked around the room to notice that Lydia was asleep on the couch, and Aiden was running his fingers through her hair. Ethan was snoring, leaning against one of the beams, and Derek was passed out in a chair. “Huh.”

Cora noticed where he was looking and smirked knowingly, an expression Stiles had come to be wary of from teenage girls. “Hyphenate?”

Stiles frowned at her. “What?”

She grinned. “Are you going to hyphenate it? Stilinski-Hale? Or Hale-Stilinski?”

Stiles gave her an innocent smile. “If you're trying to propose to me, Cora, you should at least buy me a drink first.”

Cora snorted. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Stiles tried to ignore the feeling that sparked in his chest and pushed off the bed, heading towards where he guessed was the bathroom for a well-needed shower and a re-evaluation of his life choices.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I don't need to remind you that you can tell me if you think I'm portraying a character incorrectly, or if I have any inconsistencies, because writing is for the enjoyment of the readers, not the ego of the writer. Anyway, it's 1:30am, I have exams in the morning that I can't give a shit about, and you're all lovely people that deserve baby piglets and unicorns in your life.


	10. Baby Let Me Kiss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am sooo not with the fics that say Scott is a terrible best friend, just so you know. Scott is an amazing dude, honestly. This chapter took me a while, but I hope I meet/exceed your expectations. Chapter title from King Floyd. And, holy Jesus, you better not actually be listening to the songs that these chapters are named after, because they're all horrible (no offence if you like them)

He didn't make it to the bathroom. His phoned rang before he reached it, waking Derek and Ethan up. Derek jerked off the chair and almost fell off it, but used his supernatural reflexes to right himself. Stiles still sniggered, before pressing the accept button, and holding the phone to his ear.

“Scott?”

“ _Stiles!_ ” Scott's voice was high and excited, like a little boy's, and Stiles smiled in spite of himself.

“Hey, buddy. What's up?”

“ _She said she loves me! She said she loves me and I said it back and... I'm so happy!_ ”

Cora snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Dude, everyone knows Allison loves you. You shouted it from the rooftops and howled at the moon and wouldn't stop talking about it,” Stiles replied, even as a sickening feeling in his gut told him that Scott wasn't talking about Allison.

“ _Allison? No, man, I'm talking about Jezebel!_ ”

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. “It is way too early in the morning for this.”

The wolves were listening in on the conversation, which mildly annoyed Stiles. He couldn't have a private phonecall around them.

“ _Dude! I'm so happy right now!_ ”

Stiles locked eyes with Derek and gave him a pained look. “Why? Why did she say it?”

“ _What do you mean? Because she loves me,_ ” Scott replied, confused, and a little hurt.

“Scott, dude, you've known her for what- a week?”

Scott made an angry noise at the back of his throat. “ _I knew you wouldn't understand. If you weren't so busy pining after unattainable people all the time and shared in my joy, you'd get it. She loves me, and I love her, and you keep trying to take that away from me!_ ”

Stiles sighed and hung up. He couldn't deal with a lovesick Scott at the moment. Which motivated him to find out what Jezebel was.

“Well, unless you guys want to deal with Scott for the rest of your life like that, I suggest we figure this out,” Stiles chirped at the wolves. Lydia was still asleep, and if Stiles wasn't over his crush on her, he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her. She was cute when she slept, still fierce-looking, but calm and peaceful. Stiles was instantly grateful that she had stayed the night, because he wouldn't be able to handle the lunacy (har har) of the others without her.

Stiles doubled back to his laptop, lying on Derek's bed, when he was intercepted by the man himself.

Stiles at him with raised eyebrows.

“You need to eat,” Derek said gruffly. “And sleep.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You need to brush your teeth.”

Derek gave him an unamused glare and moved away, grumbling under his breath. Stiles sighed and gave up, walking back towards the bathroom and hoping for a few minutes peace.

The bathroom was unfairly huge, and it added to Stiles' bitterness towards Derek for being rich _and_ loaded, until he remembered where the money came from.

He splashed water on his face, a pathetic attempt to energise himself, and looked up at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like a crack addict, so it turns out you didn't need half-assed peach fuzz for that.

His eyes were rimmed red with fatigue, and his hair was sticking up at odd angles and tufts.

Stiles focused in his reflection and started on the breathing and mood exersises Deaton had been trying to teach him.

Because even though Deaton knew little about Stiles' case, he had taught him something that probably wasn't a valuable skill, but comforted Stiles nonetheless.

His eyes flicked red, a brilliant red that matched Derek's and Scott's perfectly.

Then, purple. He didn't really have anyone to compare that to, but it flashed up when his magic was having trouble stabilising, like a warning sign.

And then, Stiles half-dreading it, they flicked to black.

Nothing happened to his vision, it didn't black out, or go fuzzy. It stayed the same, the only thing changing being the colour.

It always freaked Stiles out, though, so he blinked it away and was met with his own hazel brown eyes.

The exersises weren't pointless. Deaton had told him they could be used as an exersise in control, so he wasn't that surprised when his eyes turned purple while he was freaking out yesterday. It was him trying to control his power, which had been surging up in a panic at the time.

Stiles was not going to take a shower. Regardless of their bond-hugging and the pack-bond, Stiles wasn't the kind of guy to shower at someone's house without knowing them for a while.

So he came out probably smelling just as bad as when he'd gone in, and maybe looking a little better, though.

Lydia was awake and scowling at Ethan. Stiles knew how bad her morning mood was, and felt a little bad for Ethan.

What he hadn't expected was Cora to be in his laptop. “Hey! That's password-protected!” Stiles protested, stumbling across the room to yank it out of her hands.

Cora smirked. “Don't worry, I'm not interested in your porn.” The page scrolled down at lightening speed, and he really hoped she was processing everything just as fast.

“Invasion of privacy,” Stiles moaned, watching her helplessly.

“Well, your brain's fried, so you're not exactly a reliable researcher.”

Stiles mock-gasped. “Take that back!”

Cora ignored him and turned back to his laptop. Stiles gave Lydia a pleading look, which she returned with a shrug.

Stiles huffed and sat next to Cora on the bed. “Have you been feeling the sudden urge to propose to an evil, slimy witch yet, Aiden?” Stiles asked cheerfully.

Aiden glowered at him. “No,” he replied in a strained voice.

Lydia rubbed his back reassuringly, and he unclenched his jaw.

Stiles switched his gaze to Ethan. “What about you?”

Ethan nodded. “I can smell her, even when I try not to.”

Stiles repressed a snarky comment, because Ethan was actually the nicer of the two, and he had saved Jezebel from charming him into a mindless drone.

After two minutes of Lydia murmuring in Aiden's ear, Ethan glaring at his shoes, Derek pacing across the loft, and Cora scrolling through the bestiary, Stiles was bored. And, because he had a death wish and a life goal to be a pain in a certain Alpha's ass, he went exploring.

 

Derek had to pull Stiles out of several rooms already, and it was annoying.

The boy had a damn death wish.

At first, it was the laundry, where Stiles had started up the machine and put the wash powder in the wrong slot. The sound of the machine was like a gunshot, and it startled every were in the loft so much that Stiles was faced with four, snarling, shifted wolves.

And he had just grinned like a maniac and held out his hands defensively.

The next was the kitchen. Derek had heard a yelp of pain and the smell of blood, and found Stiles holding his finger to his chest, which was bleeding profusely, the bloody knife on the chopping board and red-stained celery.

Derek rolled his eyes and walked back out, draggin Stiles with him by the sleeve.

“Stiles,” Cora called out half an hour later.

Stiles was at her side instantly, Derek looking over her shoulder at the text on the screen.

“That's her?” Stiles asked disbelievingly.

Cora nodded. “It makes sense. Enticing men and women, draining them of their willpower. Going after particularily strong men,” she added, with a sly glance at Stiles.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Well, since I haven't been hitting the gym recently, I'd say that applies to me in the magical sense.”

Derek looked back at the screen. “A Siren? Really?”

“I thought Sirens were those mermaid women who made ships crash,” Aiden called from across the room.

Stiles snorted. “Obviously not.” He picked up the laptop and scrolled through the rest of the entry, snorting with amusement at some passages. Derek watched him as he bit his lip, concentrating on the screen, but then looked away at Cora's raised eyebrows.

“Well, we know she isn't a fish woman, and I doubt you can kill her by saying her real name.” He was silent for a minute. “Oh,” he commented dejectedly.

“What?” Cora twsited around to get a look at his laptop.

“Well, there's a reason she's gone after every werewolf in this town, Hales excluded.” Stiles looked up at Lydia from across the room. “She wants to harness the power of the full moon. Apparently it's something they have to do every one hundred years, to stay young and beautiful, and keep their powers fresh.”

Lydia stood up and walked over to them. “So she came to Beacon Hills.”

“The most supernaturally-populated town in America, I'd bet my ass on it. She's already got a beta and a true Alpha. She's trying to rope me in. She's gotten into Ethan and Aiden's heads.”

Derek shook his head. “Why hasn't she gone after Cora, or Lydia? Or me?”

Stiles shook his head at Derek. “You are so oblivious.” He walked over to the nearest column and tapped it with a deliberate finger, three times.

The column glowed with carved in symbols that Derek swore weren't there a second ago. Stiles' eyes flashed red as he grinned at everyone, who were staring at him like he had just announced the sky was falling.

His grin faltered as the silence grew. “What? You thought I would leave this place undefended? After the Alpha pack and everything?”

Derek found his voice. “When did you do that?” It sounded accusatory. It wasn't meant to.

Stiles chewed on his nail and the symbols stop glowing, the wood smoothing over as if they had never existed. “About a week ago. They're paganistic symbols for protection. Deaton's warded the clinic with them.” He patted the column affectionately. “She can't find us by magical means, and if she did, she wouldn't be able to get in without me knowing.”

Derek was aware he was staring, but it was hard not to when you come to terms with just how brilliant Stiles was. He felt an unfamiliar warm feeling spread through him at the thought of Stiles warding his loft, protecting him and Cora, his pack mates. He hadn't expected Stiles to become so invested in the wellbeing of his pack. Emissaries never got involved as much as Stiles was.

Stiles sighed, breaking the silence, as expected. “I didn't bring you all here because I wanted a big, puppy-pile sleepover. This is the safest place from her, and as long as you don't step outside the building, she can't get to you. On that note, who wants to get more coffee? We're out.”

Lydia ran her finger down the wood where the symbols had been glowing. “Stiles, you're a genius.”

Stiles put a hand on his chest in mock-hurt. “I'm offended that you say that with such surprise. Have I not proved how smart I am already?”

Lydia gave him a smirk. “Of course you have, honey.” She patted her chest and sat back on the couch next to Aiden, crossing her legs. “But we can't stay here forever. And we have to get Scott and Isaac. And Allison.”

Stiles leaned against the pillar and looked down at his shoes, but it was clear he wasn't concentrating on the problem. His fingers twitched, and his eyes darted around, unfocused.

“Stiles... How long has it been since you've taken your medication?” Derek asked him.

Stiles looked up at him and narrowed his eyes. “I... uh, I don't know.”

Derek grabbed Stiles' keys and tossed them to him. “Right. You and me are going on a supply run.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What happens when she charms you? What are you going to do, kiss her to death? Follow her around until she gets sick of you and commits suicide?”

Derek rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. “No, idiot. I'll hope she hasn't charmed you.”

Stiles plodded after him with reluctant, heavy steps. “Great,” he grumbled. “Everyone's lives are in my hands. No pressure or anything.”

Derek slammed the door behind him and headed to the elevator. “You work better under pressure,” he reminded Stiles.

Stiles made a curious noise in the back of his throat. They got the jeep without talking, which was normal for Derek, but it unnerved him how quiet Stiles was.

As Derek got into the passenger seat, he was reminded of the time Kate shot him with a wolfsbane bullet, and his life was in Stiles' hands. How Stiles threatened to drag him out and leave him in the middle of the street.

He laughed, and Stiles shot him a look of disbelief. “Did you just... laugh?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at him.

Stile stuttered on. “It's just, you know, you never laugh or smile. Well, you smile a lot more now, but you never used to. It's nice,” he finished, starting the jeep up and tapping his fingers on the wheel.

Derek didn't know how to respond to that, so he stayed silent.

After a few seconds, Stiles was talking again. “So where are we going first?”

“Your place. You need your Adderall.”

Stiles nodded. “I think I know how to stop her. I should have some supplies at home.” He glanced at Derek quickly before fixing his eyes back on the road. “It's warded as well, so as long as she isn't stalking me, we should be good.”

Derek didn't like the way is foot was tapping and his left hand was running through his hair. “Are you okay to drive?”

Stiles let out a laugh. “I forget to take my meds all the time, dude. I know when I should and shouldn't drive. Believe it or not, I survived in the big bad world before I knew you.”

Derek scoffed. “Yeah, I'm sure you did a great job of that.”

Stiles lifted a hand from the staring wheel and pointed at him. “You got shot with a wolfsbane bullet, and I had to babysit you for the day. I hid you in _my room_ , in the _sheriff's house_ , when you were on the run from the cops. I held you up in a pool for hours, while you were paralysed from the neck down, cursing your brilliantly-muscled body for it's unnecessary mass because goddamn you were heavy. So don't take that tone with me, mister.”

Derek felt himself smiling in spite of himself. “You're a smart ass.”

Stiles grinned as he turned into his street. “Don't I know it.”

 

Stiles was such an _ass._

He should've seen it coming.

He should've seen it coming, and now he can't do a thing about it.

Because of course, _of course_ , Jezebel would be waiting for him at his place. How could he not assume?

But he was having fun, joking around with Derek, not realising that he'd made Derek a fucking target, not realising that by letting Derek go with him, he was putting Derek in danger.

As soon as he pulled up outside the house, and he saw her (totally dyed) blonde curls, sitting on his front lawn like she'd never moved, he was screwed.

Derek stiffened immediately, and he saw her grin widely. She stood up and walked over, and Stiles' brain was shouting, screaming at him, to start the car, to drive out of there, before Derek jumped out and professed his undying love for Jezebel. Stiles did _not_ want to see that.

But he just gripped the edge of the seat, his claws coming out and piercing the fabric, and shot Stiles a desperate, pained look.

Jezebel tapped the window, and gave him a smirk. His hand wanted to reach for the keys, to turn them and start the engine and keep driving, away from her, but instead, it moved to unwind the window, even as he scowled at Jezebel. She wasn't endearing herself to him, she was charming him to do her bidding. What a bitch.

As soon as the window was wound down, Derek's nostrils flared, and he looked livid. At least he wasn't trying to get in Jezebel's pants.

“Hey, Stiles,” Jezebel chirped.

“What the fuck do you want?” Stiles spat, gaining control of his hand and shoving it under his thigh.

Jezebel tutted. “You, of course. And him,” she replied, inclining her head in Derek's direction.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood. It sobered him up enough to reach to keys. “Well, you can't have us, so go play with your boy toys and leave us to plotting your demise.”

Jezebel raised her eyebrows. “It'd be a bit hard for you to do that with such a lovely distraction sitting next to you, wouldn't it?”

Stiles whipped his head to Derek, who had an unreadable expression on his face. “Stiles,” he bit out in a desperate tone.

“What are you doing to him?” Stiles asked, raising his voice, almost yelling.

Jezebel's eyes twinkled. “You think all I can do is attract people to me? Oh, no, I can go the other way. I can make anyone attracted to _anyone_ ,” she said, her eyes narrowing at Stiles.

Stiles refused to look at Derek. “You're making him want me? Like, in a-” he swallowed. “In a romantic way? Or... or a sexual way?”

Derek growled, but Stiles was not going to look at him, because hell, he was _not_ going to be able to handle it. Not after he'd been pining after him for so long.

Jezebel laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, Stiles, I'm not really forcing anything. I'm taking away the inhibitions.”

Stiles focused on her face, even as he felt a spark through the pack-bond. A spark of -ah Jesus- arousal. And it wasn't his.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Jezebel tapped her fingers against Stiles' cheek, and Stiles couldn't pull away, because any movement he made would be a move closer to Derek, and the emotions pouring through the pack-bond, the _arousal_ , was overwhelming him.

“It means,” she continued sweetly. “That this hulking, strong, brooding Alpha was been wanting to kiss you for weeks. And he's been wanting to have sex with you for _months_.” She laughed as she took in the fully confused expression on Stiles' face.

He scowled at her. “This isn't funny, you know, toying with me like this. You're lying.”

Jezebel's eyes widened in mock-surprise. “Oh, but we all know you've wanted him for longer, don't we? Pretty Lydia just got to be too much of a tiring chase, so you switched your affections on to someone even more unattainable.” She leaned in close. “I'm trying to tell you, Stiles, that he isn't. Unattainable. I'm trying to give you what you want. Don't you want that?”

Stiles was aware of how fast his breathing was. “What, so you can just sacrifice us on the full moon? Yeah, that's right, I know what you are and what you're doing here. I know all about your little fixation on wolves, and me, and I'm telling you that it isn't going to work.”

“Why's that?” she breathed. Stiles could feel her breath on his face.

“Because you've seriously underestimated me.”

She grinned. “Oh, I knew there was a reason I was drawn to you. That Alpha has no idea how lucky he is.” She drew back and tapped a finger on her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should give him a little taste.”

Stiles saw the glint in her eyes, and heard the whimper from Derek, and then suddenly Derek's face was close to Stiles, really close, and he was looking at him with a predatory expression.

Stiles's hands were shaking as he tried to push Derek off, because _god_ , he was straddling Stiles.

“Derek,” he choked out, as Derek leaned forwards. “Derek!” He pushed at the chest, forcefully, even though he was no match for werewolf strength, or the look Derek was giving him.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, almost reverently.

Stiles held him away with one hand, trying unsuccessfully not to shiver as Derek's hand slid up his leg.

“You don't want this, Derek,” Stiles whispered.

Derek's eyes darkened. “I do,” he insisted, trying in for another kiss.

“This is non-consentual,” Stiles tried, and it wasn't a lie, not really. Stiles would fully consent to anything Derek did to him, but Derek wasn't in the right headspace to make decisions.

Derek whined, and Jesus, if that didn't set Stiles' heart racing. His resolve was crumbling, he could tell, and Derek leaned in again, but away from Stiles' face, into his neck. He nuzzled it and Stiles almost caved.

“Derek! Come on, buddy, this isn't you. This is a creepy girl in your head telling you that you want me, this isn't you. You're going to-” Stiles broke off with a gasp as Derek's tongue raked across Stiles' neck. “You'll regret this, you'll hate me, and - _oh god_ \- and-”

“Shut up,” Derek ordered breathlessly, kissing his neck gently.

Stiles took a deep breath as Derek's lips slid up to Stiles' jaw, behind the ear, nipping slightly at the skin there. He couldn't let it go on, because no matter how right it felt, it was wrong.

Stiles' hand groped between their chest, and Derek pressed into it, almost trapping it. Stiles nudged him away slightly, and then reached into his pocket. He drew out a small pouch, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, concentrating.

Derek's mouth pulled away from Stiles, and he wanted to open his eyes and look, but he had to concentrate, even as he felt Derek's face get closer to his own.

And then Derek was gone. The door was open, and he was thrown onto the lawn, looking dazed and angry and confused.

Stiles climbed out of the jeep on unsteady feet, eying the line of mountain ash circling it with only a smudge of regret.

Jezebel was no where to be seen, that bitch, but Stiles definitely would have been creeped out if she'd stayed to watch. Ew.

Derek got to his feet and looked straight at Stiles, and Stiles was relieved to see his eyes were sobered now, baring a lot of horror. Okay, relieved wasn't the word. Maybe hurt, a bit like he'd been punched in the gut.

Stiles gave him a cautious look. “You're...” He cleared his throat. “You're not going to...” He gestured at himself.

Derek licked his lips, and he wasn't looking away from Stiles, but Stiles wished that he would, because he couldn't look away from Derek, and he didn't like how wide and freaked out Derek's eyes were.

“No,” Derek replied hoarsely. “Sorry.”

“It's -uh- fine, really.” Stiles' voice was too high, and it was going to give him away.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. So if I break this circle, you're going to behave, like a good doggy?” _Shut up, Stiles._

Derek glared at him and okay, that was an expression Stiles could handle. “I won't try to kiss you again.”

Stiles nodded quickly, and pushed down the disappointment. He leaned down to break the circle, aware just how fast his heart was beating, and stepped closer to Derek. Derek turned away and marched towards Stiles' house and, right, they were on a mission.

Stiles followed him, trying to forget the feeling of Derek's lips on his neck, Derek's thighs trapping him in, Derek's body on his. And he almost tripped on the welcome mat when he realised that Derek would've heard Jezebel talking about Stiles' feelings for the guy.

_Shit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speeding things on a bit. The last part just came to me, my fingers never actually left the keyboard. Just so you know, despite how steamy that got (which, okay, not really that steamy, but for me it was), the ratings stay the same. I can't write smut for shit. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and don't be afraid to leave comments!! They all make my day.


	11. Free To Decide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from The Cranberries. Okay, Jesus, this chapter was hard. And sorry for the late-ish update, I've been busy. I've loved all of your comments, and I've taken criticism on board, but just note that I had this chapter basically finished before I got those comments, so :/

If it was hard to be near Stiles before, it was impossible now that Derek knew what his skin felt under his lips, where he tensed, how he gasped from under Derek.

And how he looked at Derek with a terrified expression on his face. What Derek couldn't understand was the guilt that was pouring off Stiles as he tripped on the welcome mat and stumbled inside. _Derek_ assaulted _Stiles_ , it was... _non-consensual_. At least Stiles had stopped him before Derek kissed him. That wasn't how he wanted his first kiss with Stiles to be like.

As soon as Derek stepped foot inside, a vaguely familiar smell took hold of his senses, and he grabbed Stiles' arm. Or tried to. Stiles was already halfway upstairs.

“Son?” the sheriff called out from the living room. “Is that you?”

“Can't talk now, Dad, the town is under attack,” Stiles yelled back. Derek could hear him rifling around in his room, and took a cautious step inside, trying to pinpoint in his memory when he had smelled that mixture of coffee and aftershave.

The sheriff appeared in front of him, in uniform, staring at him with a guarded expression. “Derek. What are you doing here?”

Derek pointed upstairs. “Town's under attack.”

The sheriff opened his mouth to reply when someone came up from behind him, and Derek tensed. It was that man -Jordan Parrish- from San Diego. In a deputy's uniform. In Stiles' house.

“It's you,” Jordan said, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Derek didn't answer, and the sheriff looked between them. “Do you two know each other?”

Parrish nodded. “The day before I moved here, we met in San Diego. How's Stiles?” he asked Derek.

The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “My son? Stiles?”

Parrish's eyes widened. “Stiles is your son?”

The sheriff nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond without revealing too much. Stiles had told his father about San Diego, and since the story largely featured characters of the lycanthrope variety, it wasn't something you wanted to share with a complete stranger.

And that's the moment Stiles figured he would ruin everything by coming downstairs shirtless.

He locked eyes with Derek for a moment, then flushed and look at his Dad with a grin, which faltered when he saw Parrish.

He stopped the at bottom of the stairs and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, hey. Jordan, right?” His eyes slid over to the sheriff with a little panic.

Parrish's eyes were wide as he took in the absence of a scar, and the presence of Stiles' latest tattoos.

“You never called me,” Parrish said faintly.

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I was kind of tied up with... uh, you know, stuff.”

Parrish took a step towards him. “Where's your scar?”

Stiles grinned, the kind of grin he uses as a distraction. Derek would've been jealous at the blush it caused in Parrish's cheeks, but he kind of sympathised with the guy. Stiles' grins were pretty powerful. “I'm a fast healer.”

Parrish traced the new symbols with his eyes, and Derek felt a growl build up in his chest as the scent of attraction lingered in the air. The sheriff was watching the scene with mild amusement and confusion.

Derek huffed and glared at Stiles behind Parrish's back. Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek, and gave Parrish an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Busy.”

“Saving the town?” Parrish grinned, obviously over the surprise of Stiles' healing abilities. Or dismissing it, which was something humans did often.

“Yeah. Busy life, being the son of a sheriff.” Stiles clapped his father on the shoulder and moved towards the door.

“Stiles, put a shirt on,” the sheriff called after him. Stiles closed the door and started towards the jeep.

Derek sighed and followed him. It was hard, getting back into the jeep with Stiles after what had just happened. The scent of his arousal hung heavy in the enclosed space between them, a reminder of how close Derek had been to kissing Stiles.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and didn't look at Stiles. “Put your shirt on.”

Stiles turned to him. “Right. You heard everything she said, right?”

Derek's heart started picking up the pace. He'd heard Jezebel tell Stiles how he'd wanted him. Stiles had written it off as a lie, so Derek was safe, right?

“Yes,” Derek answered carefully.

Stiles' breathing quickened, but he pushed on. “And you heard me when I said that she's underestimated me?”

“Yeah,” Derek answered, unsure of where Stiles was going with this train of thought.

Stiles grinned and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Derek could feel the stirrings of Stiles' magic, the smell of the earth and the grounding feeling making it's welcome presence known.

When Stiles opened his eyes, they flashed red, and Derek knew his had flashed red in instinctual response. And he had sleeve tattoos.

The top of both arms resembled Scott's; two bands, the top one thicker than the bottom. But the top one was cross-hatched, and the bottom one was made up of several stripes of varying darkness. There was a gap in the ink, where a symbol sat, one Derek recognised from one of Deaton's jars. The sleeve picked up from where it had left off with an elaborate drawing of a treeline, with birds silhouetted in the “sky”, and it ended at his wrist, with a Celtic band pattern reaching around his wrist.

Derek resisted the urge to touch the ink, because it was seriously a thing of beauty. It would've taken hours of careful, precise, perfect needlework.

He looked back at Stiles' face, which had sobered during Derek's examination. “It must've hurt.”

Stiles shrugged. “It wasn't so bad. I don't want to get addicted to werewolf-morphine.”

“Why didn't you tell me about it?” Derek asked, substituting the complicated feelings of hurt with simple annoyance.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Because I needed to be sure that she wasn't going to charm you into telling her everything. Now I know. If she ever charms you, it'll be to distract me.”

Derek looked away, because Stiles' eyes were so clear and earnest and it was hard to see him so casually mention how Derek had forced himself on Stiles. Then again, as Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly and looked out the window, maybe not so casually.

“What do they do?”

Derek still wasn't looking at Stiles, but he could hear the smile in his voice as he started up the car. “Influence over the elements. They connect me to nature, which is what being a druid is all about. They stabilize me with it, harmonising us. Very _chi_.”

Derek peeked at Stiles. He was pulling a shirt over himself, but the sleeves still showed. “Can you control it?”

Stiles switched the jeep into drive and pulled away from the curb. “Yeah. I've been practising. And, since the full moon is tomorrow night, I grabbed a few things from my witchy stash of herbs.”

Derek leaned away from Stiles, closer to the door, because the smell was really getting to him. The jeep closed in on him, forcing him to move towards Stiles, but he resisted. He breathed through his mouth, trying not to inhale Stiles' scent. That Siren girl hadn't replaced his inhibitions, so he had to remind himself, over and over, why he couldn't just _touch_.

“Deaton said I should keep it a secret, like pulling out an ace, like a... like a divine move.”

Derek raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar term.

“It's a term from this Japanese board game, _Go_. It's a move that turns a losing game into a winning one, one that isn't obvious, but it balances the strategy and turns the tables. An... inspired move.”

“And you think that control over the elements is your divine move,” Derek answered.

“Not control. _Influence_. One thing you learn with Deaton is that there's a balance between all things, but nature is the most powerful force. We respect nature, and if it respects us, it lets us influence it.” He glanced at Derek. “Where to next?”

Derek sighed and looked out of the window. “Store. Coffee, remember?”

Stiles hummed in agreement. “What do we do about Scott? And Isaac and Allison?”

Derek frowned. “Phone them, ask where they are, and then we go get them and take them to my apartment.”

Stiles let out a short laugh. “Yeah, with Jezebel scratching around in their heads? We'll just lead her to your place, and we don't want her getting to the others.”

Derek was silent for a moment. “We could knock them out,” he suggested.

Stiles snorted. “Of course you'd resort to violence.” He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “We... Maybe we just...” He made a frustrated noise and slammed his hands on the steering wheel.

Derek reached out and touched his arm, despite his instincts screaming for him to get closer and run away simultaneously. “Stiles,” he said gently.

Stiles tore his gaze from the road for a split second to meet Derek's eyes, and his eyes were so full of guilt and indecision that Derek was stunned for a moment, whatever bullshit comfort he was going to say dying in his throat, because he didn't really understand the look in Stiles' eyes. He didn't know what he needed to say to make things easier.

Stiles turned back to the road and let out a breath. “I just need to take my Adderall.”

Derek took his hand off Stiles' arm. “You don't need to always come up with the plan, Stiles.”

Stiles shook his head. “Then what am I good for?”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, before I got all demon-y and black-eyed, I was useless, Derek. Everyone else around here is running around with lycanthropy, or a bow and arrow, or weird paralysing poison, and all I had was a fucking baseball bat. I had to be smart, Derek. I had to make the decisions, to constantly put myself in danger, because if I didn't, you all would've left me behind the moment Scott was bitten.”

Stiles didn't sound bitter, that was the problem. No anger, just resignation and neutrality.

“Stiles-” Derek began. He took a few seconds to gather his words, because hell, he wasn't a talker. “You came to the conclusion that Scott was a werewolf before Scott did. Before I did. So, yeah, maybe you're the smart one and we rely on you for that, but Scott was your best friend before that. You two are inseparable, and it drives me mad, but he would never leave you behind.” Derek didn't mention that he wouldn't be able to just ignore Stiles as soon as he stopped being useful. How Stiles provided relief from the constant danger and fear with his witty remarks and sarcastic jokes.

Stiles let out another breath then, and his grip on the steering wheel relaxed. Derek felt a primal kind of satisfaction at being able to reassure his pack-mate.

 

Okay, Stiles was not oblivious to that fact that he'd just whined about his problems to Derek. Derek Hale, the guy who's never had a break from all the bad shit in his life, listening to _Stiles_ and consoling _Stiles_.

Stiles had just fallen a little in love with him. Just a little. Derek was obviously smart, if his bookshelf had anything to say about it. He was stubbornly self-sacrificing, and when he trusted, he trusted completely. He was an over-protective ass, and had an apparent disregard for personal space. Stiles often wondered how a guy with so much of himself broken managed to succeed so much, managed to get so far in life, but something in the way Derek held himself inspired awe. A kind of courageous vulnerability, suggesting that with each tragedy came a lesson that he had learned, and there was a sorrowful kind of beauty in it. Stiles had come to respect that about him, sometime between Scott using him to bite Gerard and Jennifer going evil on him.

Stiles hoped to god (with a shitload of naivety) that it was just a fleeting feeling, because he wouldn't be able to control himself around Derek if it wasn't, and the dude looked like he was trying to get as far away from Stiles as possible in the cramped confines of the jeep.

Stiles gave Derek a confused (not hurt) look and sniffed his shirt. “Dude, do I smell or something?”

Derek raised his eyebrows, and Stiles was so used to it that he was starting to view it as an effective method of communication.

“You're, like, all the way over there,” Stiles elaborated, parking the car in front of the store.

Derek gave Stiles a pained glare. “The Siren took away my inhibitions,” he said in a strained voice, looking down at his feet, staring holes in them as if they had offended him. His eyes were wide, but his eyebrows pulled together, and Stiles guessed it was a slip of the tongue.

Stiles' brain short-circuited, and he suffered a few seconds of awkward silence before breaking it. “You- but she...she lied,” Stiles replied, aware that his breathing had stopped. He worked to start it up again, but it hitched in his throat.

Derek's nostrils flared. “Not about that,” he muttered. His tone implied his reluctance to talk about it.

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. Because Stiles had thought Jezebel was lying when she'd said she'd taken away Derek's inhibitions. He had thought that she had _forced_ him to be attracted to Stiles, but if she had just taken away his inhibitions, that meant that he was really-

“Stiles.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, who was staring back with a guarded look on his face. Stiles saw right through it.

His hands were shaking, but he placed them back on the steering wheel, because he had to put them somewhere. “You mean... What she said, about you...wanting to kiss me? That was _true_?”

Derek huffed and reached for the door handle, but Stiles grabbed his arm.

“Derek! Was she telling the truth?”

Derek turned back to Stiles, his eyes flashing red. “She was!” he shot out, glaring at Stiles. “I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry she used that against you, and I'm sorry I almost forced you to-” He cut off abruptly, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his breathing. The raw anger that Derek was emanating from his glare was overwhelming, but Stiles refused to be intimidated, because anger is a secondary emotion, to cover up vulnerable feelings, and he didn't want to cover up feelings as much as discuss them. “I said non-consensual, right?”

Derek nodded, his jaw clenched and his muscles tensing.

“I was referring to you. I thought... I thought she was forcing you to do that. I thought that when you realised, after, even if it was just a kiss, what you had done, you'd regret it.”

Stiles looked across at Derek, whose eyes were narrowed in suspicion and hurt. Stiles groaned; he wasn't getting anywhere with the guy, and if he was forced to talk about his feelings for much longer, he might have to start buying tampons once a month. “Did you hear what she said about my feelings for you?”

Derek was silent for a moment, contemplative. “You said she lied,” he pointed out carefully, looking away, out the window.

“You just said she told the truth!” _This conversation is getting way out of hand._

Deek scowled. “Just... forget it, okay? Go get the damn coffee, Stiles.”

Stiles shook his head. “Do you really want to know why I didn't let you kiss me?”

Derek shook his head in return, still staring stubbornly in front of him.

“Because that wasn't the situation I imagined when I imagined you kissing me,” Stiles said softly, his heart feeling like it was beating out of his chest. “That's not how I wanted it to play out.”

Stiles didn't miss Derek's sharp inhale, and then it really struck him, a moment of clarity where he forgot all about his own insecurities and doubts, that _Derek wanted him back_. Derek shared his feelings. Derek fucking Hale wanted to have _sex_ with him.

Stiles repressed the bubble of hysterical laughter that built up in his throat at the surrealness of the situation and let out a shaky breath. He shook his head, waited for a moment. Derek was staring at him, silent and surprised, idle, painfully inactive. Stiles could feel the weight of Derek's wide-eyed stare, but he was busy studying his hands on the steering wheel. Derek obviously wasn't going to do or say anything, and the silence was suffocating.

Stiles usually dealt with it by talking excessively, or making sarcastic remarks, but he didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to break this tentative _thing_ they had between them, where they both knew what the other wanted, but neither of them were sure the other _wanted_ to want it.

Stiles opened the door and stepped out of the jeep. Derek didn't follow and that was okay.

He expected Jezebel to come around the corner and charm him, steal him, do something, but she never showed, and that girl in the biscuit aisle with blonde hair had a nose too large to be Jezebel.

What he didn't expect, was Isaac to corner him in the milk section.

“Stiles,” Isaac greeted politely. Isaac was never really polite to Stiles, so it inspired a fair amount of suspicion.

“Isaac. What are you doing here?”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Shopping.”

Stiles was on guard immediately. “Jezebel get sick of you?”

Isaac flashed his eyes gold. “Jezebel would never.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Of course she wouldn't, because she's saving you for a mass full moon sacrifice. All of your friends are going to be there. It'll be like a party. You like parties.” Stiles knew he hated parties.

Isaac stepped closer to Stiles, threateningly. “She would never do that. She loves us.”

Stiles squinted in disgust at him. “Really? This is some sick, power-induced, lust-threesome? Oh, man, that is nine kinds of crazy.”

“You wouldn't understand,” Isaac insisted. “But you can. She wants you, just as much as she wants us. If you join us-”

“What? Nightly orgies, courtesy of hers-truly?" Stiles shook his head in disgust. "Come on, Isaac. You know she's charming you. It isn't real."

Isaac growled, and Stiles raised his eyebrows at him. He had hidden his sleeve tattoos to avoid the mixture of appraising and judgemental looks, so he knew that Isaac couldn't report to home base about Stiles' “divine move”.

“You didn't think, me being the Emissary of Derek Hale and the best friend of Scott McCall, that I'd leave myself completely undefended, did you, Isaac?”

Isaac lurched forward, his eyes golden and his sideburns present (Stiles was seriously glad the milk section was hidden behind the porn magazine stand), only to be met with resistance.

Stiles grinned widely with unrestrained happiness, because it was _working_. He'd practised it, but he hadn't actually used it against someone that wasn't Deaton. Air influence.

Isaac, after a few seconds of struggling, gave up. His fangs shortened to regular canines, and his eyes flicked back to that brilliant blue that Stiles could admit to being kinda attracted to.

“Now, shoo. I didn't come here in the hopes of basking in your joyful company, O beta of my heart. I have shopping to do,” Stiles muttered, sounding a lot more casual than he was. Inside his power was bristling, shaking him with excitement that it had been used, that it was useful, and it wanted more. It reminded him of his Adderall withdrawal. Stiles pushed it down.

Once he'd paid for his Alpha's stupid coffee, he hesitated for half a second at the door. Because Derek was out there, in his jeep, probably frozen in the same moment he had been when Stiles left. Or he was gone, which was pretty fucking stupid, so it listed high on the list of possibilities of what Derek was doing.

What he hadn't expected was Derek, right outside the door, dragging him across the footpath by the arm, into an alleyway that smelled surprisingly of pasta. Stiles' brain, always prioritising, focused on that little detail, that it smelled like pasta. And the good kind, with tomato pasta sauce, not the weird white pasta that looked mildly inappropriate.

Derek was looking at him with narrowed, confused eyes, and it took Stiles' mind a moment to figure out that he'd said that out loud.

“What are you doing, Derek?” Stiles asked him, edging away from him. His eyes darted around the alleyway, but it was vacant, unless there was a hobo somewhere in the dumpster behind them.

Derek crossed his arms. “You can't just do that.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Do what? Buy coffee?” He was stubbornly avoiding the subject, he knew it.

Derek huffed. “You can't just tell me that you want to kiss me under different circumstances, and then leave me to figure out _which_ circumstances.” His tone wasn't angry, but it was accusatory, as if _Stiles_ was the one dragging innocent coffee-buyers into shady alleyways.

Stiles' eyes widened, because he'd figured the Alpha was going to rip his throat out and leave him for dead (maybe he hadn't entirely gotten over his fear of the wolf). “Well, good luck with that,” he replied in a strangled voice.

Derek looked up at him, and he looked so vulnerable, so open and hopeful, that it scrambled Stiles' thoughts and left him with _anger_. If Derek had looked like this with Kate Argent, or Jennifer Blake, then what fucking right did they have to hurt him? What right did they have to make it so hard for him to trust again?

Derek's eyes darkened, and then he was surging forward, towards Stiles, one hand at his hip, and one at the back of his neck. He stopped there, looking at Stiles as if he were going to disappear.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me you don't want this.”

Stiles didn't have to look up at Derek. They were about the same height, and Stiles knew that he was going to be taller someday. Derek's face was dark in the shadow of the buildings, but his eyes glowed red, right back at Stiles.

Stiles didn't smile, or smirk, or say any of the things he'd imagined he would say when he allowed himself a few seconds to day dream this situation.

“If that's what you want me to say, then I'm sorry to disappoint, _Fido_ ,” Stiles breathed, aware of how low his voice had gotten, and how close Derek's face was to his.

Derek rumbled, low in his throat, a kind of primal sound that made Stiles want to shiver, but he still hesitated. And because Derek had straddled him in his jeep, and admitted his feelings for Stiles first (which he was still in a state of disbelief over, to be honest), Stiles realised that it was his move. His turn to roll the dice.

He closed the gap between their faces, his hand wrapping around Derek's forearm and the other curling around Derek's neck in an almost mirror-like image of Derek.

And then Derek's lips were on his and _oh_. That's what he had been missing out on.

Derek's lips were soft but insistent, and Stiles had been willing to give as good as he got, sure, but Derek one-upped him. He took control of the kiss, pressing his body against Stiles and slotting his leg between Stiles'. His lips tasted of something subtly sweet, but Stiles wanted more. He let his tongue slid across the seam of Derek's lips and Derek actually _growled_ this time, reciprocating the gesture with a more demanding tongue.

Stiles had only been kissed about three times in his life, so he didn't know where the confidence come from when he bit down lightly on Derek's bottom lip, tugging it gently before releasing it. Derek made a noise that could've been a moan in the back of his throat, and pulled away almost abruptly.

Stiles' eyes flew open to see Derek diving for his neck. He braced himself, but instead of Derek's lips or teeth (because Stiles figured Derek was a biter), he felt Derek's nose press against his skin, breathing him in.

Stiles knees threatened to collapse on him, because it was too much, but after a few seconds he pushed at Derek's chest. “Derek,” he said breathlessly. “Do not tell me you're scenting me.”

Derek took a small step back, and _Jesus_ , Stiles did that. Stiles made his cheeks red, his eyes wide and lucid, his clothing rumpled. Stiles made him look post-sex.

He actually looked a bit dazed, and Stiles was caught with the fear that maybe he _had_ been forced this whole time, maybe that wasn't him but Jezebel, maybe he'd lied to Stiles.

Stiles held his breath in and looked into Derek's eyes. “Derek,” he began slowly. “Are you feeling any kind of supernaturally-induced infatuation with me?”

Derek gave him one of those rare, satisfied smiles that made you instantly want to keep him smiling because you know that it could disappear at any moment. His hand came up and cupped Stiles' jaw gently. “That was me, Stiles. Only me.”

Stiles returned his smile with a hesitant grin, which turned into a scowl when his phone started ringing.

“Hello?”

“ _Stiles?_ ”

“Lydia? What's happened? Something's happened, hasn't it?”

Lydia's voice was thin and stressed, and she was breathing really loudly. “ _She's got to them. To Aiden and Ethan and Cora. You need to get here, Stiles,_ now.”

The connection cut off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, I spent ages on this, and it was complicated, but I hope you like it. I'll grab a pic of Stiles' sleeve tattoo for the next chapter. <3


	12. Break Your Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo hey guys. Your comments make me happy and smiley :D and I love the feedback. Chapter title from the Fray.

When they got to the loft, Scott was there. Derek could hear his heartbeat, and only his.

As soon as he slid the door open, Stiles surged forward towards Scott, nimbly evading Derek's arm when he reached for him.

Scott's eyes were wide and freaked out as Stiles grabbed a fistful of his shirt and leaned in close.

“Where are they?” he demanded, almost shouting. “What did you do?”

Derek moved to pull Stiles away before Scott hurt him, when Scott caught his eye and shook his head subtly.

Scott looked back at Stiles' face, which was angry and scared and hurt. “Stiles,” Scott said gently, circling Stiles' wrists with his own but not pulling them away. “I didn't do anything, I swear.”

Stiles shook his head. “Why should I believe you? Everything you say is just Jezebel talking through you!”

Scott shook his head again, dipping it slightly to catch Stiles' eyes in his earnest gaze. “Stiles, it's me. It's really me.”

Stiles stepped back from Scott slowly, rubbing his face wearily and regarding Scott with doubt. “This is just one of her tricks.” His voice was cautious, but it still betrayed a little of his hope that maybe it _was_ his best friend, and just his best friend, standing in front of him.

Scott took a hesitant step forward. The pair had completely forgotten Derek's presence, Stiles too busy trying to find something wrong with the situation and Scott too busy trying to convince his best friend that he's independantly-willed.

“She's still got Isaac and Allison, and I only got here a minute ago. No one was here, so I'm guessing she's taken them.”

Stiles looked back at Derek, and Derek gave him a small nod, because Scott wasn't lying. His heartbeat was quick and slightly panicked, but it didn't hitch or stutter.

“How?”

Scott straightened his t-shirt, frowning. “I don't know. The more she piled the charm on, the more clearly I could think. It was the opposite for Isaac and Allison.” He looked back up at Stiles with guilty eyes. “I'm sorry. About what I said, on the pho-”

He was cut off by Stiles' body colliding with him in a tight hug. He hugged Stiles back just as tightly, and Derek realised he was witnessing a rare kind of friendship. Scott and Stiles had always been a package deal, but he never knew just how close they were until he saw Stiles forgive his friend completely, and watch as they both took comfort in each other.

“It's okay, man,” Stiles murmured, pulling back. “I knew it wasn't really you.”

Scott nodded, looking a million times more relieved, and looked back at Derek. “What do we do now? What do you guys know?”

Stiles answered for Derek. “Jezebel's a Siren, which means she charms people and feeds off their infatuation over time. But she's been going for the supernatural population in Beacon Hills to sacrifice us on the full moon. Something about harnessing our powers to replenish her own.”

“ _Our_?”

Stiles grimaced. “Yeah, it turns out she's taken quite a liking to me.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “She's been grilling me and Isaac about you, actually. A lot. I suppose I should've been weirded out, but I just felt jealous at the time, you know?”

Derek leaned against the nearest column and crossed his arms. “So, what do you know?”

Scott sighed. “Not as much as you think I do. We would hang off her every word, do whatever she told us to do. She made us tell her everything about everyone, mainly Stiles, and make us do errands. She made me introduce Allison to her straight away, but she got bored once she realised Allison was just human. And then, you know, it started to wear off. I snapped out of it pretty much after that phone call, but I had to stay where I was, or she would've realised. I have to keep texting her sappy love confessions in case she gets suspicious.”

Derek frowned at he floor. “Why did it wear off with you?”

Stiles' eyes glinted like they always did when he got an idea, and he grinned as he slapped Scott on the back. “It's probably a True Alpha thing,” he said dismissively. “The point is that you're immune, Scotty. You can resist her charms. You're The Chosen One.”

Scott rolled his eyes and gave Stiles a cautiously happy smile, appropriate for the circumstances. “What about you? I heard her grumbling that she couldn't get to you.”

Stiles face fell a little bit. “It takes longer for her charm to work on me. But she's started to wear me down, so I'll be just as much use as Derek when we go after her.”

“How are we going to go after her?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow at his Emissary.

Stiles scrunched up his nose in thought, and it was a good thing Scott was there, or else Derek would have him pinned up against the wall or the couch or anywhere, because Stiles was ridiculously attractive when he was deep in thought. When he stopped being aware of having an audience, and bit his lip in concentration, his long fingers tapping absent-mindedly on his chin. But he couldn't dwell on that thought, he couldn't get distracted.

After a few moments, he traded looks with Scott. “He's gone,” Scott said in a normal voice, as if Stiles wasn't there. Stiles didn't notice. “He always does this. We'd better not disturb him.”

Derek nodded, and they both made their way into the kitchen. He could still feel the primal tension between them, his wolf recognising another, more powerful, Alpha. He was getting pretty good at ignoring it.

Scott wasn't doing as well. His jaw clenched when Derek got too close, even as his eyes apologised.

“Scott,” Derek began, noticing how Scott instinctively tensed. “You need to control it.”

Scott sat on the stool at the other side of the counter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your wolf side. The Alpha in you. You're fighting it, aren't you?”

Scott nodded. “It wants to fight, to challenge you.”

Derek leaned his elbows on the counter. “Challenge me for pack and territory. What you're doing, Scott, is splitting youself. You can't just be a wolf when it suits you and you know it. You're forgetting to anchor yourself.”

Scott looked away, and Derek could smell the distress pouring off him. “Allison used to be my anchor,” he replied quietly.

Derek almost rolled his eyes, or growled in exasperation, because he'd been dealing with Scott's love life since he'd known him. It always got in the way of Scott's potential, but Derek was patient, because Scott was still a kid and he needed the experience of a normal teenage life once in a while.

“Then find a new one, Scott, and find it soon.” _Before the tension turns into a bloody pack war._

Derek heard Scott's heartbeat pick up pace, just a tiny bit. “I have. But...” He sighed and looked at his hands. Derek felt that whatever he was going to say next was a pretty big revelation. “He's currently being controlled by Siren wanting to sacrifice him to the full moon.”

_Oh._

Finally at least one of them could admit it. Derek was getting sick of the angsty looks Isaac and Scott gave each other when they though no one was looking.

“Guys? Where'd you go?” Stiles called out, concerned.

“Kitchen,” Scott replied, looking relieved to focus on something else, besides his hands and the confession he'd just dropped on Derek.

Stiles stumbled in, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. “I've got a plan.”

 

It was a brilliant plan.

He explained it to the two Alphas with exaggerated gestures and twitchy body movement. He'd call Deaton and ask if he can get his next tattoo a little ahead of schedule (which would only cause him mild discomfort, since he was due for it tomorrow). This one was a protection sigil, and it was powerful, and he was pretty sure that, under normal circumstances, Deaton would refuse. Because it was one of the most painful, since it battled with his energy while simultaneously drawing on it. It was protection against magical influence, and it was one he had been hoping to avoid, since every time he used it, it would be painful.

Then they'd check the major locations of Beacon Hills: the preserve, the nemeton, the school, the Hale house, the hospital.

Then Derek and Stiles would distract her, fight her, while Scott waited for an opportunity. And they'd take her down.

Scott raised his hand mockingly. “What about the others? Shouldn't we free them too?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, in _The Matrix_ , how the Agents can take over anyone's body, if they're plugged in?”

Scott nodded. “So, you're saying that if we free them, they'd probably just turn against us?”

“Makes sense, if she's charming them. They might not be tied up, though. That will be harder to deal with.”

Derek twisted in his seat to face Stiles. “We need Argent.”

Scott frowned. “Chris? Can't he be charmed, too?”

Derek shrugged. “We need all the help we can get. Besides, his daughter's been charmed by Jezebel. She'll be draining Allison already.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay! So, good plan?” He grinned at the two werewolves.

Scott sighed. “ _Terrible_ plan,” he muttered. “But, the best we've got.”

Stiles pouted. “You are so mean to me. When this is all over, I'm finding a nicer best friend, who actually has faith in my abilities and plans.”

Scott grinned and took out his phone. “I'll call Chris. You call Deaton. We've got ten hours until the full moon.”

Stiles took out his phone and dialled Deaton's number, anticipating the vet to pick up after the third ring, like he always did.

Fifth ring.

Something was wrong. Stiles hung up the phone as soon as it went to voicemail and caught Derek's eye. “He's not answering. He always answers.”

Scott was still talking on the phone, but Derek grabbed Stiles' arm and led him out of the kitchen anyway. “He might just be busy.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, even when he's busy, he always answers his phone.” Realisation hit him like a punch to the stomach. “Oh god. She has him.”

Derek frowned. “Jezebel's sacrificing Deaton?”

Stiles chewed on his thumbnail. “He's a druid. He's powerful. And he's useful to us.”

Derek held up a hand. “Slow down. He didn't answer his phone, that doesn't mean he'd about to be ritually sacrificed. Again.”

Scott walked out of the kitchen with wide eyes. “Deaton isn't answering?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied distractedly.

“Crap. Deaton always answers his phone. Something's wrong.”

Stiles nodded. “He's been taken. I know it.”

Derek sighed. “Just because you're some kind of tree-hugger, doesn't mean you're always right.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him and pulled down the collar of his shirt, exposing the line of sigils that trailed around his collarbone. “These tattoos tune me into my instincts. Right now, my instincts are telling me that my mentor has been kidnapped by an evil teenage girl.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, when Scott made a weird noise at the back of his throat. Stiles looked back at him to see wide, red eyes, and a confused, tilted head.

“What?” Stiles asked self-consciously, letting go of his shirt.

Scott sniffed at the air (seriously, he was a walking-and-talking dog joke), then walked up to Stiles. He leaned in and breathed into the space a few inches from Stiles' neck.

Scott drew back abruptly and gave Stiles puzzled look. And then he looked at Derek and narrowed his eyes.

“Seriously, guys?”

Stiles shrugged. “What?”

Scott frowned at him. “We're in the middle of another paranormal stand-off, and you chose now to sort out your feelings for each other?”

Stiles gave him a sheepish grin. “No time like the present, Scotty.” Scott and Derek both rolled their eyes.

Stiles let his smile drop. “I need to get that tattoo. Morell is out of town.” He bit his lip. “If I gave them the ink, do you think a normal tattoo parlour would do it?”

“I can do it,” Derek spoke up. “I worked for a tattoo parlour in New York.”

Stiles was conscious of the fact that his mouth was hanging open in shock, so he closed it. “You're kidding?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles. “Do you want the tattoo or not?”

Stiles nodded. “I'm not sure if it will work with you doing it, though.”

“Deaton said the magic's in the ink. Shouldn't be too hard.”

Stiles snorted, but reached for his keys. “You better be good. It has to be perfect.”

 

Scott unlocked the clinic and stiffened as soon as he got inside. “She's been here.”

Stiles groaned. “I was hoping I was wrong, and Deaton would just pop out of no where and yell _surprise_.” He sighed. “So it's just us, then. And Chris.”

Scott nodded. “He said he would meet us here in an hour.”

They walked into the back room, and Stiles immediately went for the cupboard, taking out a tattoo gun and fumbled around with it like he knew what he was doing. Derek wondered when he had became desensitised to needles.

Stiles handed the gun to Derek and took off his shirt. He turned around and gestured vaguely to his neck. “Right there, on the back.”

Derek touched the area lightly with his fingers, smirking when Stiles shivered.

The gun was heavier than it should've been, but Derek figured it was the mountain ash reacting with him. He glanced down at the fortunately simple shield knot that Stiles had drawn him for reference, and started.

Stiles was not desensitised to needles, as Derek found out when he squeaked when the needle touched his skin.

Derek was gentle and slow, careful and precise as he had learned, even with the unfamiliar weight of the tattoo gun. The buzzing filled the room, simultaneously reassuring and paining Derek with the nostalgia. He remembered Laura swinging her feet in a chair, cracking jokes with the clients to make them feel more comfortable while waiting for Derek to finish. Laura forcing Derek to “waste ink on his loving sister”, and tattooing obscene words and phrases on her face, then taking photos before they faded away.

Forty-five minutes later, Stiles was rubbing at his slowly-healing skin, even after Derek had batted his hand away several times. He had scowled and grimaced in pain the whole time, which he blamed on the magical effects of the tattoo.

Derek ran his finger down the edge of the shield knot, and leaned in close. “I have a thing for guys with tattoos,” he whispered in Stiles' ear, smirking at how Stiles' let out a shaky breath in response.

Stiles groaned and twisted around to face him. “Don't say shit like that, Hale,” he scolded, hooking his fingers into Derek's belt loops and pulling him close. “I can't be held accountable for my actions, and there are children present.” His eyes darkened and darted down to stare at Derek's mouth. Derek closed the gap between them in a chaste kiss. Stiles made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, and his tongue darted out to swipe across Derek's bottom lip in a way that promised more later, when there wasn't an audience.

Scott sighed loudly, and Stiles smirked, pulling away. “I could get used to that,” he said smugly, unhooking his fingers and reaching for his shirt. Derek noticed the tension in his jaw as he said that, the uncertainty in his gaze. Derek wasn't sure if he was uncertain about Derek, or if he thought Derek was uncertain about him.

“Now I know why you complained so much when I was with Allison,” Scott moaned.

Derek's ears picked up the sound of a car pulling up, and the scent of Chris Argent made it's way to Derek's nose. “Argent's here,” he announced.

Chris was armed and cautious, but Derek had learned to not take it personally. He was raised and conditioned to be wary of wolves, and even though his daughter had dated one and he seemed to be fighting their cause all the time, he was always on guard. There was still unresolved tension between him and Derek, since Derek was the Alpha who bit his wife.

“Boys,” Chris greeted gruffly. “What's the plan?”

Derek and Scott both looked to Stiles, who looked mildly uncomfortable at being singled out.

He cleared his throat and started explaining the plan with less certainty than before, mainly because Argent was intimidatingly experienced in plans and strategies.

But Chris just nodded and grunted appreciatingly. “Sounds good, but there should be a better way to find her without sniffing around town. A more efficient way.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in an expression Derek liked to decipher as _enlighten-me-further_ , and Derek got the idea that, yet again, Stiles was in his element. Derek had his doubts at the beginning, but he was starting to think that he couldn't have gotten a better Emissary than Stiles Stilinski.

Argent took out a map from his pocket and laid it out on the table. “Jezebel is similar to the Darach. She's sacrificing people to strengthen her power. Which means she'll be using the electromagnetic currents affected by the full moon.”

Stiles peered at the map over Chris' shoulder. “Telluric currents,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “The currents cross here, at the bank, Oakwood road, and the northern bridge.”

Chris tapped the map. “And here.”

Derek looked at where his finger rested in the map. “The nemeton.”

Stiles groaned. “Who knew a tree could cause so much shit?”

Derek caught his gaze and held it. “As a kid, Laura and I used to go there all the time, until my mother took the memories away. We were drawn to it. She used to tell us stories about it, about how a dark spirit had been trapped inside the tree. It rotted away and the humans cut it down. It can only be woken by sacrifice.” _Like Paige._

“Deaton told us that our sacrifices would make Beacon Hills a beacon again, for supernatural creatures,” Scott said. “If it's already awake, then what will Jezebel's sacrifices do?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing good. Give her a shitload of power, I'm guessing. She'd probably drain the nemeton again, though. Or double its power. I'm not exactly keen for either.” He started chewing at a nail. “She'll be too powerful for me to handle. For anyone to handle.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Hell, she's too powerful for me now.”

Derek wanted to reach out and comfort him, because the anxiety and worry pouring through the pack-bond was itching at him, but he didn't know how. Yeah, they may have kissed, and they may have skimmed over the topic of their feelings, but that didn't immediately give insight into how Stiles liked to be comforted, how he relaxed under pressure. That took time.

Which, fortunately, Scott had spent with Stiles already. Scott laid a hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezed. “We can do this, Stiles. We'll get them back.”

Stiles gave Scott a grateful look. “Yeah. It's just... Cora's pack, you know?” He looked straight at Derek as he spoke. “And Ethan and Aiden.”

Derek frowned at him. “They're not pack, Stiles.” He wasn't sure if he liked the idea. They had helped kill Boyd, and Derek wasn't sure if he could ever trust those two to not steal his Alphahood while he slept.

Stiles gave him a soft smile, which was a rare change from his sardonic smirks. “Not officially. But I can feel it. Give them time, and they can be.”

Scott's eyes flashed, and Derek gave him a warning glare. “Control, Scott.”

Scott shook his head and stepped away from Stiles. “I... I'm not sure if... if I can.” His breathing was ragged and quick.

Chris' fingers twitched to the holster on his hip. “What's happening? Scott, I thought you were good at controlling it.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his best friend shrewdly. “What's your anchor, Scott?”

Scott rubbed a hand across his face, his eyes still red and looking everywhere but at Derek. He didn't answer.

Stiles swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. “It's Isaac, isn't it?” Derek shouldn't have been surprised at how quickly Stile had guessed, but then again, he was more observant and aware of Scott.

Scott let out a choked sound. He was almost doubled over. Derek couldn't bring himself to leave, even though he knew it was his presence and the mention of his pack building that triggered Scott. Because someone had to make sure Stiles wasn't torn apart by his friend.

Stiles turned back to Scott and crouched down to meet his eyes, getting close, too close. Derek took a step forward, to stop him, to drag him away, but Chris put a hand on his arm, not forcefully, but cautiously. He shook his head at Derek, which did nothing to calm him.

“Trust me, Derek,” Stiles muttered quietly, his hands coming up to either side of Scott's face and yanking it up. “Scott, I need you to focus, okay? You need to focus on Isaac. You need to keep it together for him, man. You need to save him, don't you?”

Scott nodded and gripped Stiles' forearms, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his breathing to slow. Derek relaxed when he opened them again to reveal reassuring brown in place of the red.

Stiles pulled Scott up with him and patted his chest with a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes.

“How did you do that?” Chris asked, a little awed.

Stiles' eyes were harsh when he addressed the hunter. “When you threatened to kill Scott if he went out with Allison, _who was his anchor by the way_ , someone had to teach him control without her.” The hardness in his expression faded away immediately, to be replaced with a serious, contemplative look as he left Scott's side to look back at the map again.

Scott looked across the room at Derek, his face full of guilt. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Derek shook his head. “Don't be. I know what it's like to lose an anchor.” That was a lie. He had no idea what it was like, because he never lost his anger. Though, being around Scott and Stiles, with their earnest, moral antics, he felt it fade slowly, and wondered how he had let himself trust a pair of teenagers so explicitly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Scott have such a great relationship. They're like real brothers, and I wanted to highlight that, because those two are amazing. The longer Scott and Stiles spend around Derek, the more fully he can trust. Look at the character development from season 1-4. Anyway, leave comments!! You guys are amazing unicorns <3 oh, and follow me on tumblr, if you want: http://popcornsniffles.tumblr.com/ (I'm multi-fandom)


	13. Modern Magic Formula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Biffy Clyro. The end is nearing, folks, and I know I misguided you with 20 chapters, but I feel like if I drag this one out too much, it just sinks. Like, gets boring in the middle. Anyway, sorry for the late update. I hope you all like it, and I love those comments, and also, don't be afraid to contact me on tumblr (I put a link in the notes in one of the previous chapters). Dedicating this chapter to night :) because you're amazing and a great advisor.

When Stiles woke up, his throat was burning, but he was still screaming.

Thick, bulking vines were sliding across his chest, wrapping around his torso and pulling him in, towards the one place he couldn't go. He tried to twist around, to lash out, to rip the vines from him and run, but their hold only tightened.

And then the dark washed away, the pull lessened to a crushing embrace, the vines morphing into thick, muscled forearms.

Stiles stopped screaming, and it was then that his throat decided to screw him over and choke him.

So Stiles was lying, half on top of someone's body with their arms wrapped around him, on the waiting room seats of the animal clinic, choking on the raw sandpaper rammed down his throat.

He jerked away from whoever he was lying on, trying to straighten up and calm down, but their arms tightened around him. Stiles batted away the hands and looked around, panting like he'd just run a marathon. Scott was kneeling beside him, his eyes puppy-dog brown and panicked, and Chris Argent was standing a bit to the right, looking concerned. Which meant the person he was struggling to get away from at that moment was Derek.

Stiles huffed out a weary sigh and leaned back, relaxing. He knew Derek wouldn't let him go until he'd stopped pulling away. “What happened?”

Scott stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we fell asleep, and then you woke me up with your screaming. It was terrifying,” Scott added.

Stiles gained control of his breathing. “I... how did you wake me?”

Derek's voice was muffled as he answered, and it made Stiles realise that his face was pressed into Stiles' hair. “I had to roar.”

Stiles twisted around and sat back in the seat, leaving Derek free to sit up. “Seriously? I missed that?”

Derek frowned at him. “Stiles... has this happened before?”

Once again, Stiles rued the night he forced Scott to go into the wood and get bitten. Because that introduced werewolves into his life, and werewolves and lying can't co-exist. Which sucked, because normally Stiles was great at lying.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then stretched out the muscles in his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, for a while now.”

“Since when?” Chris asked, taking a step forward.

Out of context, they shouldn't be so worried. So he had a sleep terror. People get them all the time. But in context... “Since San Diego.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” He growled it out like a swear word.

Scott interrupted him. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Stiles stood up. The adrenaline from the terror was slowly ebbing away. Slowly. He could feel his hands twitching. He looked back at the Alphas and the hunter, who were staring at him in betrayal. It made him want to laugh, and he had no idea why.

Stiles let out a breath. “Because... I looked it up, okay? I read all of Deaton's books, and none of them had anything to do with what I've been going through.”

“What you've been going through?” Derek echoed, standing up as well. “You mean there's more, that you've been keeping from us?” _Yeah, panic attacks, sleep terrors, nightmares, insomnia._

Stiles barked out a bitter laugh. “It's not your problem, Derek. It's mine, and I'm handling it.” He let his expression soften. “I'm fine.”

Derek flashed his eyes red, and Scott reciprocated, unwittingly. “Stiles, I'm your Alpha. I need to know these kinds of things. I need to know if anything is wrong. I should be able to _feel_ it.” He sounded pained and guilty, and _nope_ , Stiles couldn't have that.

“You can't feel it most of the time because I don't let you.”

Derek glared at him. “You can't do that! I need to know when something happens to you, Stiles!”

“Dude, I don't care if you're not in my pack. We're best friends. We're brothers.” Scott looked wounded.

Stiles threw his hands up and looked at Chris, expecting him to stand with the majority in the room and attack him with guilt and hurt and anger (which didn't make sense, since he had no connection to Argent).

But Chris just turned to Scott and Derek. “Stiles chose to keep this from you, so you wouldn't worry about him in the middle of a dangerous situation. That's his decision. I suggest we stop standing around arguing semantics about the depths of your relationships and carry on with the plan.”

Stiles could've kissed him, but he had a point. Derek had made Stiles and Scott take a nap, since they'd both had five hours sleep between them in the last three days, and Stiles had to ruin it, and hour into deep sleep, by screaming like a sissy over a nightmare he didn't even remember. They had maybe eight hours until the full moon? Seven. Seven hours.

Derek and Scott clenched their jaws, which Stiles wished he could get a photo of because in that moment they looked so much like the brothers Derek had claimed them to be.

“Fine,” Scott said, walking over to clap Stiles on the shoulder. “But we're talking about this later.”

Stiles didn't shake his head. Stiles didn't nod. Because maybe, when this was all over, they could forget about it and stop worrying. Yeah. That's gonna happen.

Stiles cleared his throat and grinned at everyone. “Right, time for a trip to the creepy tree stump of doom.”

 

Derek was pissed off, and he should be used to it by now.

Obviously, being with Stiles meant he was going to be pissed off even more than usual.

But Chris had set them back on track, and Stiles flashed everyone the grin he used to distract, and he had to force the problem out of his mind. It was hard, the moment he had heard Stiles yelling hoarsely, Scott swearing and falling off the chairs. Stiles thrashing around, his eyes wide open but not staring at anything they could see, looking terrified and inspiring terror.

Stiles clapped his hands together. “Okay. What weapons will we need?”

Chris shook his head. “I've never encountered a Siren before. But we can see how seductive she can get with a round of bullets in her brain.”

Stiles grinned. “I like the way you think. But,” he added, his smile disappearing. “I may need to power up.”

“I thought that was what the tattoo was for,” Derek spoke up.

Stiles shook his head. “Sort of. It gave me an extension of power, right, but not actual power.”

Derek huffed and crossed his arms. “So what do you need to do? Sacrifice a baby or two?”

Stiles pulled a face. “You think you're so funny. No, I just...” His cheeks flushed a bit. “I need to do a spell.”

Scott laughed. “What, like with wands and toads and everything?”

Stiles pulled his tongue out at Scott. “No, Hermione. Like, a chant. A trance of sorts. I need isolation.”

“Here?”

Stiles rolled his eyes at his best friend. “Yes, here. But Derek needs to stay.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “If this is just some excuse to make out with your boyfriend-” Cue strangled choking noise from Stiles. “-then please don't.”

Derek cleared his throat and gave Scott a glare. “I'm his Alpha.”

Stiles regained his composure. “Yeah, it's an Alpha-Emissary pack thingy.”

Scott didn't look very happy about it, but he never looked very happy when he was reminded that his best friend was the Emissary of another Alpha.

Chris raised his eyebrows. “We need all the power we can get. I don't like going into a fight blind.”

“She has Allison,” Derek reminded him quietly. “Allison knows her way around a bow.”

Chris looked down at his feet for a second. “I know. No one harms her.” His voice left the subject closed to negotiation.

Scott nodded. “Of course not,” he answered sincerely. Stiles grunted his agreement and went into the back room, chewing his nails thoughtfully.

Scott and Chris headed towards the door, and Derek followed Stiles, finding him holding a large, old book and flipping through the yellowed pages. The smell hit Derek's nostrils in a wave of musty mold and paper, and he wrinkled his nose.

Stiles glanced up for half a second, before turning his attention to the page. “I need to draw on your sacred Alphahood or something,” he murmured. “It won't weaken you. It'll actually strengthen both of us.”

Derek nodded and waited for Stiles to finish reading.

Once he seemed satisfied, he dropped the book onto the metal bench, open somewhere in the middle. The language was foreign to Derek, which was saying something, since he knew about six different languages and could recognise even more.

Stiles noticed him noticing and smirked. “Archaic Latin. Lydia taught me.” He rolled his shoulders and let out a breath, bouncing on his heels. “Okay. I need...” He walked over to the cupboards and started to browse them, muttering under his breath. He plucked a mason jar from the top shelf and twisted it around in his hands. “Oak ash.”

The symbol on the lid was like the one tattooed on Stiles' bicep, but backwards. Stiles looked up at him. “The symbol is _duir_. It's the letter for oak. The one on my arm is _luis_ , for rowan.”

“Mountain ash?”

He nodded. “That symbol helps protect me against excessive use of influence over nature or something, I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention.”

Derek sighed. “So, what does the oak ash do? Will it-”

“-hurt you? No. It's a chieftain tree, which means it strengthens when used in rituals. I just need to mix it with... rainwater.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles. “Very mystical.”

Stiles pointed a finger at him. “Hey! Don't hate on the mojo. Just... take off your shirt and look pretty or something.” He turned back to the shelves and ran his fingers over the jars.

“You want me to take off my shirt?” Derek echoed doubtfully.

Stiles spun around with a glass bottle of water in hand, his fingers tapping the neck distractingly. “ _Yes_ , take off your shirt.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Did you want me to take anything else off?”

Stiles opened his mouth and widened his eyes, speechless. After a few moments, while Derek's amusement grew, Stiles' eyes narrowed. “Derek, I swear to god... Just, do what I say.”

Derek slid off his henley as Stiles screwed off the lid on the jar. He tipped the ash on the table and poured some water over it, mixing it together with his index finger.

He squinted at the book and sighed. “Crap. It's a blood spell.”

Derek tensed. “Isn't that dark magic?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, that's an over-generalisation. Blood spells, when used by darachs, aren't sunshine and rainbows. But, with the right intention -don't look at me like that, wolf-man, intent is important in druidry- we can work it to our advantage without feeling to urge to sacrifice virgins or whatever. Well, I can. It's my blood.”

Derek shook his head. “No, you're not draining yourself of blood, Stiles. I'm the werewolf. I've got the fastest healing.”

Stiles smirked at him. “Well, sure, but it'll be a waste of blood. And ash. And water. It needs to be my blood. So, you know, pop out a claw and cut me.”

Derek huffed, but he decided to give Stiles the benefit of the doubt and lengthened a claw. He gripped Stiles' wrist and turned it over, his thumb brushing the vein.

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “Not too deep.”

Derek made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat that he couldn't hold back, and ran his claw across the width of Stiles' narrow wrists. Stiles shivered and glared at Derek. “Just get on with it,” he snapped.

Derek returned his glare with one of his own and pressed in, slicing across shallowly. Stiles hissed and clenched his hand as the blood dripped into the ash-and-water mixture. Derek leeched the pain away with his other hand, and sheathed his claw. Stiles tugged his wrist away gently, and Derek wiped the blood away with his shirt.

“What do you do now?” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles mixed everything together and held up a burgundy-stained finger. “Now, I paint your body, and I paint my body, and we smite this bitch. No calamities.” Stiles' voice was determined and harsh, and it made Derek realise just how much everyone -him included- underestimated him. Stiles sounded like he could rip her apart and sleep like a baby that night, and it terrified and reassured Derek simultaneously.

Stiles nudged him away and started to trail a finger in the middle of Derek's chest. It felt all kinds of wrong, having Stiles' blood smeared on his chest.

Stiles noticed his discomfort. “Derek, relax. I know what I'm doing.”

He looked back at the book for a moment, before grunting in satisfaction and stepping back.

Derek looked down at the symbol on his chest. It was a spiral, not unlike the revenge symbol of werewolves, but with a line through the middle looking like an upside-down L. Or, right way around from his angle. He moved his gaze upwards to Stiles, who was already taking off his shirt.

“Think you can draw that on me?” he asked.

Derek nodded, and Stiles closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, his eyes flashed purple, and his sleeve tattoos were visible. He smirked at Derek, then gestured at the blood-and-water-and-ash mixture.

Derek started drawing the symbol a few inches lower from Stiles' first tattoo, and when he had finished, he reluctantly lifted his finger from Stiles' cool, pale skin. His eyes were dark and his breathing was shallow when he met Derek's eyes. He grabbed Derek's wrist and pressed it against the symbol, and Derek was faintly surprised to realise it had dried. No- it had sunken into the skin.

Stiles did the same to Derek, taking a step forward until their noses were brushing together.

And Stiles started chanting.

 

“ _Septem quoque tempora Senach invoco_

_Qui fabricavit fila filiis uitam longiorem._

_Utinam mortui tribus a me._

_Ut fluctus, septem felicitate et de hoc est ad me._

_Nec mali spiritus, ut facerent mihi malum in circuitu meo._

_Dixit, et flamma non pereat._

_Non est anima mea et septem candelabra exstinguas._

_Ego sum immobile saxum._

_Ego lapis pretiosus._

_Fortunam sum infirmis._

_Fallam Si tecum mihi caelum cadere, mergendum mari, ut me, quoniam conculcavit me homo, et terra consurget._ ”

The buzzing in Stiles' chest spiked painfully, and he cried out, feeling the beat of his heart and the beat of Derek's under his fingers. Derek's eyes widened when Stiles ripped his hand away from his chest and held it to his chest, panting out breaths and focusing on the spot on the floor where his blood had dripped. The red was darker than he expected, and in the lighting, it looked black.

He was being shaken, but he couldn't hear Derek shouting his name until the roaring in his ears stopped. “Stiles! Look at me,” Derek urged.

Stiles narrowed his eyes on him and tried to control his breathing. “Derek,” he breathed. “'M good. 'M okay.”

Derek shook his head and tightened his grip on Stiles' shoulders. He hesitated for a beat, and then Stiles was being pulled into a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around the wolf. “I'm okay, Der,” he murmured in Derek's ear. “Are you okay?”

Derek huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he replied, his breath tickling Stiles' hair.

Stiles smiled. “Can you feel it?”

Derek tensed slightly. “The power? Yeah. How long does it last?”

“Until the moon sets. Tomorrow morning.”

There was a brief silence, but every time Stiles thought of pulling away, Derek's arms tightened around him. “Will it be enough?”

Stiles thought for a second. “Yeah. I mean, as long as we don't show up late to the party, as long as she doesn't kill them all before we get there, I believe we can take her.” This time he pulled away to give Derek a smirk. “This also means that you get immunity.” He paused. “Well, as much as I have. So, not much.”

Derek let go of Stiles' shoulder and reached for the shirt around his wrist. Stiles scrunched up his nose. “You're going to wear that? I bled all over it.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn't want to distract you while you save out friends.”

Stiles scowled. “Oh, you think you're so hot. How much ego-stroking have you _had_?”

Derek shook his head and pulled the shirt over his head, tugging it over the temporary tattoo, and, tragically, the rest of him.

Stiles bit his lip and pulled his own shirt on, leaving his sleeve tattoos visible. It tired him out, having to hide them. School be damned, he was going to leave them conspicuous.

Scott walked back in with a glare. “Have you finished? Because we have people's live to save and- _whoa_. Stiles, buddy, you have a little something on your arms.”

Scott was staring, wide-eyed, at Stiles with something akin to awe, and Stiles grinned at him. “I've joined a biker gang, Scotty. This is their initiation tattoo.”

“You know nothing about biker gangs,” Scott grumbled. “You're tatt is so much cooler than mine.”

“I know,” Stiles said in fake-sympathy. “It's a responsibility I must bear. You became a werewolf, how was I going to live up that standard of popularity?”

Scott shoved him good-naturedly. “You're a moron.” He looked at Derek, who was staring at them both with a tiny smile on his face. Stiles could've sworn he looked almost... fond. Weird. “We good to go?”

Derek and Stiles both nodded, and Stiles threw a careless arm around Scott's shoulders. “Let's try to save our friends from a horrible, sacrificial death.”

Scott frowned as he was led out of the room. “Something's been bothering me about that. How many sacrifices does she need?”

“Uh... at least four.”

“And she's got six.”

Stiles let got of Scott as soon as the got outside and tapped his leg distractedly. Derek was silent behind them. “She could double up for each element, sure, but she'd need two more magical critters.” He gestured between the three of them. “She wouldn't leave a spare, but whether or not she does double up, she'll still have spares.”

Scott made a face. “We're not dealing out candy, Stiles. These are our friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Morals. The point is, she has a well-thought out plan, and that doesn't include spares that will just kill her once she's finished killing everyone else.”

“I feel like she's three steps ahead of us,” Derek admitted, leaning against the Camaro casually.

Stiles smirked at him. “Fortunately, I'm four steps ahead of everyone.”

Scott laughed. “You're such a bullshitter, Stilinski. What's your plan then?”

Stiles locked eyes with the True Alpha of Beacon Hills. “Well, first, I'm going to that diner on Hashland street for a burger and some curly fries. And then, we're going to the nemeton and saving our friends.”

Chris nodded from where he was standing by the building. “I like it. Easy to follow.”

“But we should have you and Derek scope out the perimeter first. No surprises.”

Scott nodded. “What about me?”

“You, Scotty boy, are my very own, personal bodyguard.”

Scott sighed and turned away from Stiles. “But you're so reckless,” he moaned. “Give me something easy to do.”

Stiles gave him a serious look. “How about waiting for me to weaken her, and then ripping her throat out?”

Scott nodded, though he looked like he had just swallowed a knife or something. Pained, at the idea of actually killing someone. “I can do that,” he said unconvincingly.

Derek sighed and stepped forward. “No you can't. You can't even put a dog down, Scott,” he pointed out.

Scott scowled at Derek. “Can so.”

Stiles threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. You, Derek, and Chris scout the perimeter. Then you and Chris wait in the sidelines until Derek and I have her nice and distracted, and you swoop in and save the hostages. Then Derek can kill whats-her-face, everyone is free from her brain-washing, apologies and chick-flick talks are made, and we all go home and focus on trivial things like graduating high school.”

“You're so bossy,” Scott muttered.

Chris walked to his truck. “Should we get going then, boys?”

 

The woods were suspiciously clean of any scent of Jezebel, and it kind of scared Derek. By the look on his face when they told him, it scared Stiles, too. The sun was half an hour away from setting, which had advantages, like no one being in the woods at night to see a bunch of people kill a teenage girl, and it's obvious disadvantages. Though the only ones impaired by the loss of light would be Chris and Stiles.

Chris looked warily at the shadows of the trees. “We'll set out, then. Within _my_ hearing range,” he added with a look to Scott, who nodded. They disappeared into the trees, Scott snapping every twig he could find while Chris was silent.

Stiles looked back at Derek, and there was no sardonic smirk or sarcastic remark on his lips. Just a serious, mature look on his face that sobered Derek up. They could get hurt. Stiles could get hurt. Cora could be sacrificed. The only reason he hadn't flown off the handle and torn the town apart looking for her was standing right in front of him. Stiles had a plan, and he needed Derek's help, and Derek wasn't going to get Cora back on his own.

Stiles' hands were shaking as he brushed the hair out of his face, and Derek caught them in his own, trapping them and rubbing his thumbs across his palms until they stilled.

Stiles let out a breath and pulled away. “We should go. Before it gets too dark. Lead the way.” He swept a hand in front of him.

Derek grabbed Stiles' arm and pulled him through the trees, straightening him when he tripped over something. It was getting too dark for his human eyes to see the forest floor, so Derek manoeuvered him around tree roots and rocks. Luckily the trees in Beacon Hills preserve were spaced out.

When they neared the clearing of the nemeton, Stiles' heart was beating violently fast, and Derek caught a whiff of panic through the pack-bond.

He ignored it and reached through his other senses, searching for the familiar scent of his sister, his former beta, anyone.

Once he found them, he stopped, and tugged Stiles' arm. They smelled wrong. They smelled sickly-sweet and mouldy at the same time, like something was rotting away at their scents. And they were all terrified.

“She's stopped charming them,” Derek murmured to Stiles.

Stiles stiffened. “That may not be a good thing. That means she's preparing, not wasting her power.” He hesitated for a second, and then pulled Derek towards the clearing, almost sprinting.

When they broke the treeline, it was not subtly. Stiles stumbled out, flailing his arms around, panting. Derek instinctively stood in front of him and surveyed the scene before him.

Or he would've, if he hadn't have been blinded by a bright flash of orange light, which seared behind his eyelids, as if it happened inside his mind. His brain shut down, and he could feel it happen in slow motion. The loss of sight as his vision darkened, the loss of control over his muscles as he collapsed to the ground. The loss of smell. The last thing he heard was a strangled gasp from Stiles, before he lost his hearing and fully sank into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Latin thingy that Stiles chanted was some Celtic druidry thingy that re-translates into English kind of inaccurately. If you want the proper English version, drop a comment :P


	14. Full Moon, Dirty Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from INXS. Yay!! I changed the work title, because "Emptiness Unobstructed" just sounds cheesy and pretentious and weird. Sorry for the delayed updates. I hope you like the chapter, I'm thinking, already, of a sequel, but it will be ages before I can get around to writing it. Like, maybe christmas?

Stiles should've seen it coming, really.

Jezebel had warded the clearing against outside magical influences. Like mountain ash, except it rendered _Stiles_ powerless as well.

He crouched down as soon as Derek had stopped roaring in undisguised agony, and looked back at the faint line of etched symbology that most likely surrounded them all.

Derek had passed out, which was a small mercy, since he wouldn't be in pain.

Stiles glanced up, where he instinctively knew the nemeton would be. Jezebel was sitting cross-legged on top of the stump, stroking it absent-mindedly while regarding Stiles and Derek with amusement.

“Welcome to the party, Stiles. Glad you could make it.” Her voice travelled across effortlessly, despite being so far away.

Stiles scanned his surroundings and took in the large tree with two nooses hanging down, swinging in the breeze. The two grave-like pits dug deeply into the ground. Two stakes sticking from the ground with dry wood piled around. Two metal tubs, which Stiles hadn't noticed were missing from Deaton's office.

Stiles looked back at Jezebel. “You're doubling up the sacrifices. _Elemental_ sacrifices.”

Jezebel grinned. “Oh, Stiles, it's a shame I have to kill you. We'd be good together, you and I. Partners in crime. But your power, man, that's more tempting than your company.”

Stiles glared at her. “Let them go.”

Jezebel's grin widened. “I don't think so. The huntress can stay, I've taken quite a liking to her. The banshee, the druid, and the wolves, however?” She snapped her fingers, and Stiles could hear it from across the clearing.

The basement door was kicked open, and Allison climbed out, dragging a struggling Lydia after her. Her face was blank and cold, and her bow was slung over her shoulder. Stiles knew she wouldn't hesitate to use it. Allison had been brainwashed before, without magic. Twice.

Allison looked up at Jezebel, waiting, holding Lydia's shoulders with an iron-grip.

“Noose,” Jezebel ordered dismissively.

Stiles started forward, dropping Derek's unconscious body, but Jezebel held out a hand and he stumbled back. He held out his hands and pushed against the invisible barrier stopping him from getting to Lydia, but it didn't budge.

Once Allison and dropped Lydia to the base of the tree, she looked back at Jezebel, not even sparing Stiles a glance. Lydia's hands and feet were tied with rope, and her mouth was gagged with a filthy rag as her watering eyes sought out Stiles. She shook her head once, subtly.

Jezebel smirked at Stiles. “Get them,” she demanded.

Allison nodded and stalked towards them. Stiles knew the wards that Jezebel had put up would prevent him and Derek from leaving, but he tried anyway. The barrier held.

He kneeled by Derek and slapped his face gently. “Derek,” he said urgently. “Derek, come on, wake up.”

Derek stirred, and his eyelids fluttered. Stiles let out a breath of relief before he was tugged up by Allison's strong grip on his hoodie. He squawked and twisted, but her hold was unyeilding.

She half-carried, half-pulled him away from Derek, who hadn't fully regained consciousness.

He was dumped, unceremoniously, at the base of the stump, and he glared at Jezebel's smirking face.

Her smirk disappeared, and her expression was thoughtful. “Because of your connection with the wolf... I was wondering... Fire. _Yes_. I was planning for you to be one of the earth sacrifices, but this is... more entertaining.”

Stiles felt his face drain of colour, and he lashed out at Allison when her hand landed on his shoulder. He reached for his power, desperately, feeling it keen at the loss of their connection.

Allison hit him on the side of the head with something blunt, and the pain flared up, making his ears ring and his senses scramble. He stopped struggling and let her drag him towards the stakes. He passed out before she could tie him up.

 

Derek blinked his eyes open and saw the beautiful, blank face of Allison Argent staring at him. Her arms were wrapped around him, fiddling with something behind his back. Rope.

Derek strained against the bonds, feeling the hard wood between his wrists. _He was tied to a fucking stake_.

Allison stepped away from him with a smirk, but her eyes stayed dead and empty. Derek looked down at his feet to find them twisted at an uncomfortable angle. The circulation was already beginning to cut off. Derek was familiar with the feeling, being tied and chained up by hunters too many times to be healthy.

Derek tried to lengthen his claws, to cut through the rope, but he all he felt was... muted. Muffled. The wolf was there, scratching at the walls, but he couldn't reach it.

Derek snarled at Allison's retreating back, but without the usual volume and venom.

A laugh rang out, a joyful contrast to a bleak situation.

“Derek, _finally_. We've been waiting for you to wake up.”

Derek sought Jezebel out and found her standing on the nemeton, with a faintly amused expression on her face. He spotted, with a sick lurch in his stomach, Isaac and Deaton bound and gagged next to two steel tubs. And Ethan and Cora, unconscious next to what looked ominously like graves. Lydia and Aiden, tied to a tree with nooses hanging from it.

Stiles was beside him, unconscious, tied to the other stake. Blood was smushed on the side of his head, a red line streaked across his nose. Derek didn't look down, because he knew that at Stiles' feet would be a pile of dry wood. He didn't need Lydia's brainpower to figure out what it all meant.

Jezebel was playing with elemental sacrifice, and him and Stiles were going to be burned alive.

Derek tried to find his breath, but it evaded him, and he was left gasping. A voice resembling Stiles' told him it was a panic attack, which, you know, great timing.

He couldn't die in a fire. Any other means of death he'd be fine (more or less) with, but fire. Not when it had stolen everything from him. He couldn't let it steal his life as well. Or Stiles. Not Stiles.

Who wasn't moving. He was breathing, but Derek could only tell by the faint rise-and-fall of his chest and the faint thrum of his energy through the pack-bond.

He looked back at Jezebel, but she wasn't paying attention to them. She was looking at Aiden with a large, unabashed smile on her face. “It's time.”

“Don't! Don't touch him,” Derek shouted, pulling away from the stake. Cursing Allison's hunter training.

Jezebel tittered, but ignored him.

She stopped few feet from Aiden, and tilted her head to the side. Then she raised up her hand, slowly, and Derek could feel the vaccuum as she clenched her fist.

Aiden's bonds fell away as if they'd been loose the whole time, and he rose up until he was standing. Lydia was screaming through her gag, and Derek could hear Stiles groan in pain, waking up.

And then Aiden's feet left the ground and he was levitating. It obviously put a strain on Jezebel, if her cry of pain had anything to say about it, but it gave Derek little satisfaction when he figured out what she was doing.

Aiden's head was dangerously close to the noose, and he was kicking out, trying to find ground again, trying to fight something that he couldn't physically touch.

“No, no, no,” Stiles murmured next to him. He was awake, his eyes widened in horror at the scene he was witnessing. He looked over at Derek, and in his eyes Derek could read the fear, the impatience, the hurt. He could feel, through the pack-bond, Stiles' fierce protectiveness, and mixing it with his own, he wondered how he had missed the undeniable fact that Ethan and Aiden had become pack. Maybe the ties weren't as strong as they were with Cora and Stiles, or Erica and Boyd, but it would still hurt if anything happened to them, and Stiles knew that.

Stiles raised his eyebrows weakly, and Derek let out a breath and nodded. He looked out to the trees, to where Scott and Chris were awaiting their signal, and roared.

Thank god the magical ring hadn't taken that away from him, or it would've been humiliating.

Jezebel spun around, her hand still in the air, Aiden wobbling slightly.

Scott appeared in the far side of the clearing, just outside the circle, taking in the circumctances with a look of horror. Chris was right beside him, pointing a crossbow at Jezebel with a blank, controlled look.

Jezebel raised her eyebrows at Scott. “I was wondering when you'd show up, Scott.”

Scott narrowed his eyes at her. “Let them all go,” he ordered, his voice bearing the weight of an Alpha and the desperation of a friend.

Jezebel shook her head slowly. “No, I don't think I will. You see, Jennifer Blake was a fool. She was an amateur. Five-fold sacrificial victims, killed by the three-fold death? Ridiculous. Even if she had completed it, she wouldn't have been able to stop a True Alpha. But me? I have had enough experience to understand what it takes to bring down one of your kind. I have lived for centuries, Scott McCall. You're not the first True Alpha I've met, and you won't be the last one I kill.”

Derek heard the tell-tale sound of a metal arrowhead whizzing through the air, and twisted his head just in time to see Scott roar in pain, gripping the arrow shaft that was buried in his shoulder and yanking it out. He threw it away and charged forward.

Derek would've called out for him to stop, but Scott was flying through the air before he could open his mouth. His back hit a tree and he flipped, landing on his stomach. Chris took a more cautious step forward, only to find the same thing happening to him.

Jezebel huffed in amusement and turned back to Aiden.

“Aiden!” Ethan shouted, struggling against his bonds uselessly. Cora's eyes found Derek's and searched them for comfort, but Derek knew she'd be disappointed. Scott was meant to distract Jezebel long enough for Stiles to blast her with whatever he was thinking of blasting her with. They hadn't factored in the wards she had drawn up, which probably robbed Stiles of his abilities as well as keeping Scott and Chris out.

Aiden looked over at his twin, his eyes brimming with tears. And without warning, he dropped.

Derek winced and struggled to hold back a roar when he heard Aiden's pitiful choke. It was violent and forceful, how he fell into the noose, and Derek could hear the sickening crack.

Stiles sucked in a pained breath and swore brokenly. The emotions through the pack-bond from Ethan and Cora were flitting through Derek, mainly disbelief and confusion, but they all shared the same undercurrent: anger.

The loss Derek felt whenever a pack member died was one he would never get used to, one he never wanted to get used to. A shocking, abrupt emptiness, cold and dark and torn through.

Jezebel pivoted around and surveyed the clearing with a thoughtful frown. Her eyes reached Derek and Stiles and lit up with child-like anticipation.

Stiles' breathing got faster as she sashayed her way towards them. Scott and Chris were struggling against the circle, which was throwing them back into the trees ruthlessly.

Jezebel stopped in front of Derek and gave him a tiny smile, hands on her hips. “Hm... Which one first?” She glanced between Stiles and Derek and Derek's heart lurched.

“Go to hell,” he muttered, glaring down at her.

She shook her head, and then her face lit up. “Stiles! Perfect.” Jezebel walked up to Stiles and grabbed his chin, yanking it down to meet his eyes. “You're the one everyone loves, aren't you? The funny, sarcastic, smart young man that everyone looks to when things get too serious.”

“Stop flirting with me, you're not my type, _honey_ ,” Stiles mumbled, staring Jezebel down. And god, it hurt to watch him joke around in a situation like this. It hurt to watch how he still tried to ease the tension, even though he should've been a begging, sobbing, whimpering mess.

Jezebel laughed and reached up to press a kiss to Stiles' mouth. Stiles made a noise in the back of his throat and tried to lean away. Derek snarled at her, straining to get away from his stake and rip into her throat.

Jezebel tutted and moved away, giving Derek an amused glance. “Well, Derek Hale, say goodbye to your boy toy here. Be grateful I'm giving you this chance. You didn't get one last time.”

 _'Last time' being the fire that killed his family._ Derek looked at Stiles, who let out a whimper and shook his head. He looked exhausted, his eyelids drooping and his stance relaxed, resigned.

Derek felt the panic build up in his chest as Jezebel held out a hand. He smelled it before he saw it, because who could forget the scent of what destroyed your life? Fire and spark and smoke curled from Jezebel's hands, and the wood stacked at Stiles' feet flared up.

 

Stiles could feel too much. The pack-bond was overwhelming him, tiring him out with all of the emotions.

Ethan was growling and snarling, Scott was roaring, Chris was pleading with Allison, and Derek was yelling. Lydia was screaming through her gag, Jezebel laughing, and Stiles just wanted it to stop. It stopped as soon as the first white-hot lick of flame curled around his ankles, or maybe he blocked it out.

But he could still feel Derek's emotions, and he couldn't make sense of them. Panic, intense panic, anger, _panic_.

Stiles opened his eyes and bit back a yell, staring straight into Jezebel's triumphant gaze. He loomed over her, trying to ignore the pain as the flame travelled higher and the heat stung, trying to ignore how his energy beat at the walls, scratched at he door. He locked eyes with the Siren and let out a pained laugh. “Using magic to kill me seems less personal,” he croaked out, gasping. “I'm offended that I'm not worth a more passionate effort.” A cry of pain was torn from his mouth and he tried to choke it back before it became a yell because _his feet were on fire_.

Jezebel took another step back and gave him a sad smile, but Stiles was paying attention to the way Derek was saying his name, over and over, desperate.

He turned to the Alpha, who was pulling against his ropes. Stiles wanted to tell him it was useless, that the ropes were warded, just like the clearing, but his feet were burning and he couldn't feel his toes. Maybe they had burned off. He would look silly with no toes.

And then Ethan roared, a roar that resembled an Omega's in it's desperation. Witnessing his brother's body dangling by a noose from a tree must've snapped something in him. Stiles had read, from the books Deaton had given him, that if you broke a telepathic connection between wolves by killing one, the remaining one goes on a rampage, switching to their primal instincts, becoming stronger and more ruthless in their frenzy for vengeance. But werewolves with telepathic connections were so rare that Stiles hadn't given it much thought until he saw Ethan break his bonds and rush at Jezebel, wolfed out and feral.

Jezebel twisted around as soon as she heard Ethan's snarl, her eyes betraying her surprise and fear. But she caught Ethan's blue-eyed glare and matched his offensive stance with a defensive crouch and a forced smirk. She hadn't anticipated the frankly obvious telepathic connection between the twin wolves, or Ethan's reaction.

The moment Ethan lunged for her throat, the moment Jezebel blocked it with a panicked, hurried, splayed hand. Ethan hit the barrier just before he reached her, and drew back to circle her.

Stiles felt her concentration waver, just slightly, but it was all he needed. He reached out and his power rushed into his open arms. Stiles closed his eyes briefly, curling his fingers into a fist, and the flames climbing up his body were whisked away in a sudden breeze.

Jezebel's surprised gasp made Stiles smirk, despite the agonising pain his feet were in. He flexed his wrists and the bonds came away willingly, the wards bending around his power, yielding.

“How did you do that?” Jezebel breathed, giving Ethan a wary glance and keeping him at bay with a hand.

Stiles released his feet, which, _wow_ \- bad idea. His stinging, blistered, charred feet came into painful contact with the burned wood at his feet and he hissed, leaning against the stake.

It was a few seconds before he could answer her. “I told you that you've underestimated me.” He let his eyes flash red, and could feel Derek's reciprocate unwittingly.

Jezebel gave him a wide-eyed stare before turning back to Ethan. “You made a blood bond.” Her voice wavered. “You can't have. You're not strong enough.”

Stoiles knew he couldn't do much with his feet barely-functional, and he really didn't want to see how bad they looked, so he focused on the tattoo on his chest and drew from it. Upsides of blood-bonding with an Alpha? Accelerated healing.

Ethan distracted Jezebel long enough for him to heal, and once he stood up, he rushed to undo Derek's ropes.

Derek's breathing was irregular, like Stiles' got when he was fighting off a panic attack, and as soon as his hands were free, he pushed Stiles away with one hand. “Go,” he said weakly, bending down to get the ropes at his ankles. “Cora.”

Stiles nodded and started towards his other packmate when he heard someone choking. He turned to see Jezebel, with an evil grin on her face, her hand blood-slicked and sticking out of Ethan's back. The fingers wiggled a little bit, and Stiles was glad he hadn't eaten anything in the last few hours.

Ethan was spluttering, blood pouring from his mouth and mixing with black bile, his eyes unfocused and surprised.

Stiles felt it for the second time in the last ten minutes, like something had been torn from him. It was a feeling he had never wanted to go through again, and he did, so soon after Aiden. Ethan's eyes flashed blue briefly, then darkened. Jezebel grunted and dropped him, holding her hand out in front of her in disgust.

Stiles gave himself half a second to grieve, then locked eyes with Jezebel. She stared back, a smirk playing on her lips, waiting.

“I should have seen it, really,” she said, wiping her hand on her jeans. “No Spark could've been able to break through those wards as easily as you did.”

Stiles held back his power as it reared to challenge her. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Jezebel's smile grew larger. “You don't know?” She looked over Stiles' shoulder to Derek, who had crouched in the ground, his red eyes glaring at her. “Oh, but Derek does. He didn't tell you. Trouble in paradise?”

Stiles felt his anger boil up. “Shut up. Just, shut up,” he snapped, because something told him that he didn't want to know what she was talking about. He didn't want to hear it.

“You're not a Spark, Stiles. A Spark is the common level of druidry, correct? But you're something more. You're a Flame.”

A laugh burst from Stiles' lips at that. He'd read about Flames. Heroic, if they didn't go mad from the power. And nine times out of ten, they went mad with the power.

Stiles had let the conversation continue for too long. He took a steadying breath, ignored the Alpha snarling at his side, and held out an arm, just like Jezebel had done to Aiden.

Jezebel's smile wavered. “Derek knew the whole time, didn't you, Derek?” she asked hurriedly. Stalling.

Stiles ignored her.

She tried again. “Derek knew, and he didn't tell you. You know how dangerous being a Flame is, Stiles. Don't you think he should've told you, to warn you, so you wouldn't go power-hungry?”

Stiles clenched his fingers into a fist, and the air around Jezebel shut off. She fell to the ground, gasping, grasping her neck.

“I said, _shut up_.”

Jezebel's hand shot out, and Stiles found a blast of air ripping his feet from under him. He landed on his hands and looked up at Jezebel, who was standing.

Stiles saw past her confidence. As soon as she realised what he was (which he didn't really have the luxury of thinking about at the moment), her movements were unsure and fearful.

Stiles let the thrum of his energy pass into the forest floor, and roots from the nemeton reached up and burst from the ground, wrapping around Jezebel's ankles and pulling her to the ground.

Derek growled and looked ready to charge. Stiles threw a hand back towards him, and the barrier held. He couldn't let Derek in on the fight, not while it contained variables unknown to him. Jezebel was weather-witching, and Stiles knew that Derek knew nothing about it.

Beneath the thrum of magic and the confidence it brought him, a little of _Stiles_ peeked through.

_A Siren is like a Greek mermaid, right?_

Stiles thrust out a hand into the air and Jezebel rose up, the roots graciously letting go. She twisted in the air, shrieking.

And Stiles held out his other hand and slowly drained the moisture from her body.

Once it had gathered into a puddle beneath her feet, Stiles stopped. Jezebel, once the beauty of the school, looked like a hag. Her wrinkled, dried skin was the stuff of nightmares. Her fingers had turned gnarled and bony, and her clothes hung off her skin. She was still screaming.

Stiles could feel her energy, her life-force, draining away slowly with the loss of moisture. It was ugly. In between breaths and screams, her head raised to meet Stiles' eyes. And then, just as Stiles was sure that it was over, she yelled out and snapped her palm outwards, to the side of Stiles. She went still and lifeless, hanging limply in the air, so Stiles dropped her with a careless thud.

His power was buzzing around, humming in satisfaction, telling him to use more, do more. He tried to push it down and got lost in the feeling. It was overwhelming and exhilerating.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled. Stiles snapped out of it with a start and met his best friend's eyes as Scott rushed towards him. Allison was retching on the ground, and Chris was freeing the rest of them.

But Scott wasn't running towards him. He swerved off and went to Derek.

Derek, who was lying on the ground, writhing in pain and gasping. His eyes were flickering from red to green, and he seemed to be breaking off screams as they rose in his throat.

Stiles heard the blood rushing in his ears, and his power quietened down. He was at Derek's side in an instant, looking over Derek's body to Scott.

“Can you- oh god, _Derek_. Can you do something?” he asked Scott, his voice breaking.

Scott met his eyes sympathetically and nodded. His hands were shaking when he laid them on Derek, and Derek immediately stilled. Black veins pulsed through Scott's arms, and he grimaced at the pain, squeezing his eyes shut. Stiles felt the weight he hadn't noticed on his chest lighten.

Stiles was hesitant to touch him, because _he wasn't moving_. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slowing down, and _what the hell did Jezebel do to him?_

Scott opened his eyes and looked at Stiles. “Stiles- I can't... I can't do this for long.”

Stiles nodded. “It's okay. He'll be okay. It's just a little bit of pain. He's had worse, he's going to be okay, right?” He was babbling, his breath getting faster and faster.

Scott shook his head and winced at the pain. “No, Stiles... I mean, I don't think... The pain will kill him.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, no it won't. No, it can't, because he's a werewolf, and werewolves heal.”

Stiles felt Cora's hand on his arm as she knelt next to him. She gave Scott a nod. “I can take over for a bit.” She put a hand on Derek's arm and pulled the pain from him immediately. She was less tolerant to pain, and hissed, her eyes flashing gold. Derek's eyes opened, and he gasped, but they were unfocused. He stared at the sky and shuddered.

Stiles was still shaking his head. “Wh-”

Cora looked at him, her eyes still gold, her jaw clenched. “Talk to him. Bring him out of it.”

Stiles swallowed and nodded, laying a hand on Derek's cheek and slapping it lightly. Derek's eyes met his for a brief, lucid moment, before squeezing shut in pain.

“Derek, you have to stay with me, okay? Hey, _hey_ , look at me! Deaton will be here soon, you just need to hang on. _Listen to me_ , Derek Hale. I.... just, let me say this one thing. You can't die, you hear me? Because I need you to stay with me, okay? You can't leave me, Derek. You're meant to stay with me, call me an idiot, have weird eyebrow conversations, fight with me, kiss me, and get on my nerves. You're meant to do that, and you can't do that if you're unconscious, you _ass_. Keep listening to me, Derek. Derek, come on, open your eyes.”

This time Derek met Stile's eyes with a clear gaze, but he didn't say anything, gritting his teeth through the pain. Stiles took a deep breath and blocked out everything. Scott, recovering from Derek's pain, Cora, groaning through it, everyone else and everything else. His vision and his focus tunnelled to Derek.

“I know that this is probably the worst time to say this, and I know -yes, stop looking at me like that- I know that I'm stupid, and annoying, and an asshole. But somewhere along the line, maybe when I... when I... uh, held you in that swimming pool, maybe when you elbowed Peter's psychotic nurse in the face, I don't know, but some time around there, I fell in love with you. Did you hear that, you moron? I fell in love with you, but I thought it was just a silly, shallow attraction. I now know that everything I felt for you back then was just building up to when I finally realised that I love you, and _you can not leave me_. I don't care if you don't love me back, if this scares you away, because you just need to know, and I'm selfish that way. So you fight this, or I swear I'll...”

Stiles broke off and looked away from Derek's wide green eyes, because they were too bright, too surprised, but dammit, Stiles was not going to let him die without hearing that he was loved.

Stiles wished that he wasn't so perceptive, because he knew that Derek was going to die. The spell Jezebel had thrown on him in her last moments wasn't some little enchantment. Stiles could feel the power of it, the intent behind it. They could keep taking his pain away until all of the werewolves were exhausted, and then he would die.

Stiles could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, and time was passing too fast, he needed more time, he needed to see Derek laugh and smile and scowl and sigh again, but he was running out of time.

There was a heavy, squeezing weight on his shoulders, and Scott was looking into his eyes with an expression of sorrow and understanding. Stiles shut his eyes because he couldn't deal with it.

“You love him?” Scott asked softly. “You really love him?”

“Yes,” Stiles choked out. It sounded more like a sob, so he backed it up with a nod.

Scott moved his hand away, and Stiles opened his eye to see him looking at Cora. Cora nodded at him, and Scott turned back to Stiles. “There's something I can do.”

“What? What is it?” Tears were threatening to leak out and Stiles tried to keep them down.

Scott looked down at Derek. “I can heal him. But it means giving up my Alphahood.”

Stiles knew he would do it. His best friend would give it up to save Derek, of course he would. So he just nodded, and Scott pulled Cora's hand away from Derek, replacing it with his own, not even hesitating.

Cora fell back on her elbows, panting with the pain and watching Scott with careful eyes.

Stiles was vaguely aware of everyone crowding around them, no one speaking, just watching.

Scott yelled in pain after a few moments, his grip on Derek's arm tightening. Derek managed a weak “ _no_ ,” before his eyes rolled back in his head, but Scott just kept pulling the pain away.

His yell turned into a roar, and it was terrible to hear. Loud, sure, but so full of anguish, like Scott was having his arm torn from him. The roar faded away, and Scott collapsed, just as Derek jerked awake.

Stiles was at Scott's side in an instant, checking for his pulse and letting out a relieved breath when he found it, strong and steady. He was sweaty, and unconscious, but he was fine. Alive.

Stiles twisted around to see Cora and Derek gripping each other, Cora almost sobbing, and Derek groaning slightly, which turned into a breathless laugh when Cora just hugged him tighter. Derek's head rested on Cora's shoulder, and he opened his eyes to stare at Stiles.

His green eyes were bright and wide and surprised, and there could've been a hundred thousand other emotions in them, but Stiles didn't want to find them.

Stiles scrambled back, his legs flailing uselessly. He pushed up to a standing position with his hands, but didn't look away from Derek.

Derek nudged his sister to the side gently and opened his mouth, still staring at Stiles with those eyes.

Stiles took a few steps back, then turned and ran into the woods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To that beautiful person who wanted to know what Stiles chanted in the last chapter, here it is:  
> "I invoke Senach of the seven periods of time  
> Who fashion the threads of the sons of long life.  
> May three deaths be taken from me!  
> May seven waves of good fortune be dealt to me!  
> May no evil spirits harm me on my circuit!  
> May my flame not perish!  
> May my seven candles not be extinguished!  
> I am an unshaken rock  
> I am a precious stone.  
> I am the luck of the weak.  
> If I break faith with you, may the skies fall upon me, may the seas drown me, may the earth rise up and swallow me."  
> Reminder that Google Translate translates it wrong, dudes.


	15. Shake Me, Wake Me (When It's Over)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Four Tops. Okay, I understand Jezebel is the antagonist, but I love her. Kinda egotistical to love your own character, but I do. Still kinda mourning her death, and oh my lord this chapter was hard. I'm still not too sure about it. It;s pretty long, and the timeline fitting in with the show is a bit screwy.

Stiles was swinging his legs from the lowest branch on an old oak tree, looking up at the full moon through the breaks in the leaves.

Aiden and Ethan were dead. Their absence was like a hole had been ripped through his heart, and they weren't even fully pack. Stiles hadn't known their last names, if they were born wolves or not, where they were from. Hell, he didn't even know how old they were. And now they were gone, and there were two twin-sized gaps in the pack-bond.

Which he was blocking out at the moment. He didn't want to feel Cora and Derek's loss with his own, not when it was so fresh and raw.

While the moon started to inch towards the horizon, Stiles thoughts wandered from the recent tragedy to the recent discovery.

Every part of him wanted to dismiss the thought that he was a Flame, because honestly? Flames were rare. They were powerful, and dangerous. All that power flowing through them usually corrupted them, driving them mad. The few stories there were of Flames in the books Deaton had given him never ended well. They started out good, heroic, humble. The story ended with them either killing a whole lot of people and then themselves, or hunters taking them out.

But he recalled the times he had mentioned them around Deaton, and how he had tensed and left his answers closed off. How Stiles' eyes switched colour, even though it wasn't explained in the books. The nightmares and sleep terrors. How he could break the wards.

It brought up complicated, conflicted feelings that he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with, and he was relieved when Isaac started sniffing around the tree.

It was a few minutes before Isaac actually looked up and saw Stiles there, but when he did, he straightened up and gave him a steady look. “He's fine.”

Stiles nodded and jumped from the tree, landing nimbly on the balls of his feet in a crouch. He'd fallen from the side of Scott's house enough times to learn how to land. “Scott?”

Isaac nodded and started walking in the direction of the highway. “He's still an Alpha. Some True Alpha mojo. But he's going to be weak for a while.” Stiles kept up easily, and they fell into a comfortable silence. He was relieved that his best friend didn't lose his Alphahood because of him. Though he would've done it anyway, regardless of whether Stiles was in love with the dude.

“Where are they?” Stiles asked finally.

“Deaton's. I'm taking you there.”

Stiles shook his head. “I'm fine. I don't need to go.”

“Deaton said you'd say that,” Isaac replied, glancing at him.

Stiles sighed. “Look, I'll go there later, okay?”

They reached the jeep and Isaac held out his hand. “Keys.”

Stiles glared at him. “I'm fine, _Jesus_. I can drive.”

Isaac rose an eyebrow skeptically. “I was told not to take that chance, Stiles. Just give me the damn keys, Stilinski.”

Stiles scowled, but dug the keys out of his back pocket and tossed them at Isaac.

Once he got back to his house, all the lights were on, which was never a good sign. He barely got in the door before he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by his father.

He pulled away after a few moments and caught his breath. “Hey, Dad.”

His father shook his head. “You tell me next time you're about to be ritually sacrificed! I had to hear it from _Scott_.”

Stiles put a hand on his shoulder. “Dad, I'm fine, okay? I didn't want to drag you into it, not when you're still dealing with all of this.”

“You'r my son! It's my job to protect you, and I can't do that if you keep on throwing yourself at every monster that comes along.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Dad I handled it, okay? She's dead-” _I killed her,_ “-and everyone is alive.” _Apart from Aiden and Ethan._

The sheriff shook his head again, then sighed wearily. “I can't stop you from getting involved. I learned a long time ago that you're a stubborn kid.”

Stiles let himself grin. “Yeah, well, I guess I take after my old man.” He clapped his father on the shoulder and headed upstairs.

After Deaton had explained everything, Stiles left the clinic whith a lot more knowledge, and lot more anger. Because he was fine with Derek keeping things about him from him if he thought it would protect him. But when it involved his dead mother and her ablities, Stiles stopped being fine with it. He couldn't allow himself to be angry with his mother, so all of that resentment at such a significant part of his identity being kept from him, passed on to Deaton and Derek.

Deaton was impossible to be angry at, however. He kept tensions in check with his calm voice, and didn't encourage a fight.

And Stiles couldn't be angry at Derek directly, since it wasn't like he wanted a confrontation with the guy. Or see him at all. Or speak of him, or think of him.

Yeah, Stiles was pretty good at avoiding a problem until it went away. The problem was that no one was letting it go away.

 

“Stop talking about it, Lyds.”

“It's been a week! And here you are, fixing your jeep.”

“It needs fixing. There's an oil leak somewhere,” Stiles replied defensively.

Lydia threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “And yesterday, the lawns needed mowing. The day before, you were, and I quote, “perfecting the art of origami”. You're avoiding him.”

“Am not. I'm busy.” Stiles turned back to his jeep and fiddled around with the distributer cap, then decided against it. He didn't want to break anything important. He switched his focus to the oil filter.

“Then just get a mechanic to look at it and get your stubborn ass over to Derek's,” Lydia snapped, throwing his shirt at him. “And, for god's sake, cover up. You're making me swoon.”

Stiles grinned at her and threw the shirt back, leaving oily fingerprints on it. The day was hotter than usual, and Stiles didn't like to cover his tattoos anyway. It made him feel edgy and vulnerable. He grabbed his phone and trained the camera on Lydia. “Say it again. I wanna video it. Lydia Martin saying my shirtless body makes her swoon.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at him and sat on the tool box next to the jeep, crossing her legs. “Boys,” she muttered. “You need to talk to him. This is ridiculous and immature behaviour.”

Stiles sighed. “I just need some time, Lydia. This past month has been too fast-paced for everyone. A week of peace is what we all need, and I'm not gong to stir shit up.”

Lydia glared at him. “It's not peaceful. It's tense and moody and angsty. I don't get what's so complicated, Stiles.”

Stiles wiped the sweat from his face and looked down at his oil-slicked hand. “He doesn't need it, Lyds. He doesn't need a seventeen year old kid pining after him. Not after everything he's been through.”

Lydia held up her hand and studied it, a move Stiles had long ago interpreted as feigning non-chalance when she was about to say something serious. “Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're eighteen in... twenty hours. Legally a consenting adult. He's a consenting adult.” She sighed and pierced him with a perceptive stare. “That means that you don't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. If he wants a relationship with you, regardless of whether your feelings are stronger or not, then he will. If he doesn't, then he won't. Stop trying to avoid the problem by pinning it on him. Make a decision based on your feelings, not your assumptions. You know what they say about assuming.”

“It's dangerous,” Stiles replied, wiping his hands on his jeans and stepping back to study his jeep. “Maybe you're right.” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, you're right. But I'll deal with it in my own time. I just need some space, to think.”

“You've had a week. You're overthinking.”

Stiles spun around and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Stop being right all the time.” He paused for a second. “It isn't exactly a healthy foundation for a relationship.”

Lydia tossed her hair. “It's Derek Hale. I'm not sure if he knows what a healthy relationship is.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you so afraid of?”

Stiles thought for a second, wiping his hands on the rag lying on the side of the jeep. “That I'll just be another person who tells him they love him and then lets him down.”

Lydia came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Stiles, you're not Kate. Or Jennifer. He knows that.”

“But what if I can't help it?”

“Trust me, Stiles, you're not a bad person. You're probably the best of us.” Stiles snorted, and her grip tightened. “I'm being serious. But that's not it, is it? That's not why you ran away.”

Stiles shrugged out of her grip and stayed silent.

“It's about your mother, isn't it?”

Stiles turned to look at Lydia. Her arms were loose at her sides and her eyes were wide with sympathy.

He waited for a moment before nodding. “The day she died, I was there. I was holding her hand when the machine flatlined. The last words I said to her were _I love you_.”

Lydia bit her lip. “You told your mother you loved her while she died, and you told Derek you loved him while _he_ died. But he didn't die, and you panicked.”

Stiles picked up his shirt and fiddled with it. “Yeah,” he said softly, not meeting Lydia's eyes. He was continually amazed (but not surprised) by how perceptive and smart she was.

The silence stretched between them, neither of them feeling the need to fill it. Stiles slipped his shirt on and looked back at Lydia, who was biting her bottom lip with a thoughtful, distant expression.

He closed the hood of the jeep and threw a spanner into the toolbox, the harsh clang of metal making them both wince. She grabbed her bag and gave him a friendly one-armed hug.

“Talk to him,” she said in his ear. “He deserves that much.”

“Tomorrow.”

 

Stiles terrified Derek.

It was the way his eyes flickered to black when he was dealing with Doctor Death in San Diego, strapped to a chair with a sliced-open chest and a confident smirk.

It was the way whenever he used his magic, his scent changed to something barely recognisable.

It was the way he completely drained a girl of all the moisture in her body, leaving her a raggedy pile of dry skin and bones, without batting an eyelid.

But what scared Derek the most, was how completely wrecked he looked when Derek caught his eyes, how all expression on his normally-open face closed off while he backed away. How he ran away with a stuttering heartbeat, and blocked off the pack-bond.

Cora had held him back from running after him, which was probably a good thing. What could he have said anyway? How could he possibly fix a situation when he didn't know his own feelings on the topic?

Derek knew before Scott woke up that he was still an Alpha. He could smell it, but instead of wanting to challenge him, his wolf found a new respect for the rival Alpha who had saved him. A grudging respect, but it was enough to sate the competitiveness. For a while.

Lydia was sobbing into Allison's shirt, Allison looking only slightly more held together. Chris had cut Aiden down from the noose and laid him next to Ethan. Isaac cradled Scott's head in his lap, brushing his shaking fingers through Scott's short hair. It was visibly calming him.

When Scott woke up, slowly, peacefully, his eyes sought out Derek's first, the crease between his eyebrows fading as he realised that Derek was okay.

He looked up at Isaac with a smile, and got one in return. “Stiles?” he croaked out, sitting up and looking around anxiously. “Where's Stiles?”

Derek opened his mouth to speak, but he had no answer. He was still itching to get out there and track him, but Cora must've sensed what he was thinking, and her grip tightened around his shoulders as she lifted him up. “He ran off,” she said, glancing at Scott. “He's in the woods.”

Scott struggled to stand as well. “Why hasn't anyone gone after him?” he rasped, leaning back against Isaac's supportive hand on his back.

Cora shrugged. “He looked like he needed space.”

Scott let out a weak growl. “Someone should find him.” He swayed on his feet, and Isaac caught him. Scott locked eyes with him. “Can you... Can you follow him? Just make sure he's safe?”

Isaac nodded, and Chris grabbed Scott's shoulders while he moved away. He hesitated for a few seconds, then pressed a light kiss on Scott's forehead, before tilting his gaze upwards, scenting the air. Isaac headed in the direction that Stiles had ran off, and Derek's stomach tightened.

“You're not strong enough to go out there, Derek,” Cora said. “Give him time, okay? It's been a long night.”

Derek nodded and looped an arm around her waist as she dragged him in the opposite direction, ignoring the foul taste in his mouth.

Two hours later, Isaac turned up at the animal clinic Stiles-less, and Derek almost threw him across the room until he announced that Stiles was safe, at home. He gave Derek a glare and muttered “Don't screw around with him,” under his breath, even though Scott and Cora could hear him.

To everyone else he said, “He's had a rough day, so we shouldn't overwhelm him. He just lost two of his pack members in one night, and killed someone.” The rest was left unsaid but it lay heavy in the air: _He declared his love to help a dying man hold on to life._ Yeah, Derek was still trying to process that.

Everyone left pretty soon after that, because they still had school to go to in the morning, Scott's orders. Derek wondered, not for the first time, why Cora didn't go to school with the rest of them. Or if she had even gone to school at all since the fire.

But he was too tired to start a discussion he had no intention staying awake for, so he kept his mouth shut.

A day went by, and Derek still hadn't heard from Stiles.

Two days, and Scott called to reassure him that Stiles was okay, he just needed time.

Four days, and Cora had snapped at him, telling him his life wasn't a sappy teenage romance novel, and he should just talk it out with Stilinski or get laid.

Five days, and Derek was ready to give in. Because Derek was feeling the Emissary-Alpha bond pulling taut, and Deaton had warned them specifically _not_ to do that. Spontaneous combustion was mentioned somewhere, he was pretty sure. And he wasn't going to let Stiles risk his life just because he was trying to avoid a confrontation.

Derek wasn't rearing for a deep talk about feelings either, because his life was not some chick-flick movie and he liked to hold on to as much masculinity as he could. But he wanted to figure Stiles out, because even after knowing him all this time, Stiles was just as much a mystery to him as he was the first day Derek met him.

Derek snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at where his fingers were dialling Stiles' number. He flicked his wrist and the phone sailed across the room, disappearing through the hole in the wall. He fell back against his pillow and glowered at the ceiling, finding himself wishing that he was as good with words as Stiles was, because he couldn't seem to sort through the conflicting emotions and come out with a monologue about his feelings.

Derek had almost drifted back into an uneasy sleep when a flare of raw emotion struck through the pack-bond. It took him a few moments to identify it as panic, full blown panic that almost left him breathless. It danced around his mind with unadulterated terror.

Derek was at the door in seconds, and Cora was sprinting downstairs after him. Her hair was messy and knotted, and her clothes rumpled from sleep, but her eyes were just as alert as Derek felt. She stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Stiles?”

Derek nodded and shrugged her arm off. “It's probably just a panic attack,” he answered, swallowing down the bitter taste in his mouth. It was the most intense panic attack he had ever felt from Stiles, and it was becoming harder and harder to catch a breath.

Cora caught his eyes and softened her features. “Go. Call me as soon as it's over.”

Derek was out the door before she had finished her sentence, and it wasn't until he had started the car when he realised he was still in his sweatpants and a henley, but he couldn't be bothered caring, because the little voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe it wasn't a panic attack, maybe it was something else, _maybe something was happening to him_.

The time passed too fast for Derek to keep track of, so he didn't know how long it took him to turn up at the Stilinski house. The sheriff must've been on duty, so Stiles was alone in the house. That thought made Derek's stomach tighten with worry.

The door was locked, but Derek wasn't going to bother with knocking. He could smell Stiles, and just Stiles, upstairs, which relaxed him, but his panicked gasps and twisted shouts urged Derek to force the door open, breaking the lock. He ran up the stairs and wrenched Stiles' bedroom door open.

Stiles was screaming hoarsely, his legs kicking around as he struggled to sit up in the bed. His eyes were wide and unseeing, and every scream had to be cut off with another desperate gasp for air that wouldn't come.

Derek stood paralysed in the doorway, stunned by what he was witnessing. His mind was blank when he tried to search it for something to do.

He remembered when he was twelve, and Cora hadn't had her first shift yet, but every full moon she'd start screaming. Their mother had told Derek that she was having night terrors, since her mind was at war with her wolf. He'd almost forgotten the memory, but he held on to it now. Though he was pretty sure Cora's eyes hadn't flickered red, purple, hazel, black, red.

Derek surged forward and pulled Stiles' body to his own, pinning the flailing legs between his own and trapping his arms as they endeavoured to push him off the bed.

Stiles was still screaming, and Derek remembered how he had roared last time, to bring him out of it, but he wasn't sure if it would make it worse.

So Derek just held him tight to his chest. “It's okay,” he murmured in a low whisper. “It's okay, Stiles. I'm here. It's okay, you're okay. I'm not leaving you.”

Derek couldn't say how long they stayed like that before Stiles' yelling turn into quiet sobs. And the sobs turned to hitched breaths.

Stiles relaxed in his arms, his legs wrapped around Derek's, his cheek pressed into Derek's shoulder. His phone vibrated a few minutes after he had fallen back asleep, with Cora's name on the screen. Derek reached for it and pressed answer.

“Stiles?”

“Shh, he's asleep,” Derek whispered.

“You left your phone here. Is he okay?” Cora asked softly.

Derek looked down at where Stiles' fingers curled around his bicep. “Yeah,” he replied. “He's okay.”

“Thank god,” she breathed. “That was terrifying, Der.”

“I know. It was a night terror. I'll be home in-”

“Stay there,” Cora interrupted. “He needs you. Stay there.”

Derek found himself less reluctant to stay than he would've liked. “Okay. I'll be home in the morning.”

Cora let out a breath. “Take care of him. He's pack.”

Derek hung up and turned the phone off. He rested his head on the wall behind him and closed his eyes, exhausted.

The past week, he had been too restless to fully succumb to sleep, stirring every few hours and tossing around the covers. He had put it down to the curse Jezebel had put on him. But, with Stiles pressed against him, warm and safe and comforting, he realised just how oblivious he was. It wasn't the curse he was recovering from, it was his worry for Stiles. That feeling, deep in his mind, that he couldn't relax until he knew Stiles was okay, until he was right in front of him. Second-hand assurances of his safety from Scott and Lydia did nothing to sate his anxiety.

So Derek found sleep coming to him easily, even with his back pressed uncomfortably against the wall and Stiles drooling on his shirt. Even with his bare feet exposed to the air and his body pinned down by Stiles' weight.

 

The first thing Stiles noticed when he woke up, was he must've forgotten to close his curtains, because the morning light that was streaming through his window was painful to his eyes.

The second thing was that his mattress was hard and bumpy and not a mattress but _a fucking person_.

He jerked awake and away from the body he had been lying on, but their legs had been tangled together, so he ended up getting caught between them. He pulled away and fell gracelessly to the ground, his elbow hitting the bedside table painfully.

Derek just mumbled sleepily and turned over, settling into Stiles' bed as if he had been made for it.

Stiles swallowed down the surprise that Derek Hale was in his bed, but it wouldn't go away because _Derek Hale was in his bed_. Derek was snoring lightly, his legs tangled in Stiles' blankets, his hair mussed and his face pressed against the pillow, distorting his features. He looked unbearable hot and cute and adorable, and Stiles had to remember to close his mouth.

His mind flicked through everything he had done the previous day. He had woken up early, made his dad breakfast, headed to the library for some books on biology, studied for his biology exam, and fixed the jeep. He had talked to Lydia, and he remembered saying he would talk to Derek the next day, not that night.

And he had slept through the night, which was new. He hadn't slept through the night since the eclipse.

He spotted his phone and turned it on, certain that he had left it on before he went to sleep, and certain that he had set an alarm for seven. It was eight-thirty.

He had about ten text messages, but he ignored them and called Cora. She picked up on the fifth ring.

“Derek?” she answered sleepily.

“What? No, it's Stiles.”

“Oh. Are you okay?” she asked, her voice clearing.

Stiles frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

Cora sighed, which turned into a yawn. “About midnight-ish, you had a sleep terror or something. I don't know. It sucked.” So, _not_ a perfect sleep then.

Stiles glanced over at Derek. “Why is your brother in my bed?”

Cora let out a chuckle. “Because he calmed you down, idiot.”

 _Crap_. “Oh. Um...”

Cora groaned. “Don't wake him up. You kinda deprived us both of much-needed sleep.”

Stiles winced. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” she replied, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I used to get sleep terrors. It's not your fault.”

Stiles grunted and felt a yawn build up. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, curled against Derek, until at least midday. But he glanced at the pile of books next to his laptop and stifled a groan. “I have to go.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy birthday.” She hung up.

Stiles swore under his breath. He was eighteen. It was his birthday. He flopped onto his desk chair and switched his laptop on, trying desperately to go through his normal morning routine, despite the illegally hot Alpha werewolf in his bed and the fact that he was eighteen.

He was busy typing up the conclusion to his history essay when Derek finally woke up. The tapping of the keyboard had helped lull Stiles into a reassuring world where the man he had confessed his love for wasn't lying in his bed. Until Derek mumbled something and began to stir.

Stiles looked behind to find Derek sitting up and blinking sleepily. His eyes locked on to Stiles and stayed there.

Stiles stared back for a few moments, before looking down and clearing his throat awkwardly. “Thanks.”

He looked back up to see Derek raise an eyebrow, completely awake and looking ridiculously amazing for someone who had been drooling in his pillow a minute ago. “For what?”

Stiles sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “For, you know, uh, the sleep thing.” He gestured vaguely to the bed and tried to beat down the blush that threatened to take over.

Derek smirked and stood up from the bed. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the sweatpants, and then up at Derek.

Derek cleared his throat. “What are you working on?”

Stiles turned back to the laptop and saved his essay, then closed the lid. “School stuff.”

There was a moment of silence that was in no way comfortable.

“How long has it been since you got a full night's sleep?” Stiles asked him.

Derek frowned, and he had that look that Stiles' father got sometimes when Stiles asked him about what he had for lunch. When you contemplate lying. But Derek met his eyes with a clear, even gaze. “A week. Longer.”

Stiles shook his head. “You're not a robot, Derek. You need sleep.”

Derek glared at him. “What about you?”

Stiles shrugged and took a book off the pile on his desk, turning it over in his hands and avoiding Derek's eyes.

“Stiles,” he growled, taking a step towards Stiles. “You think I don't notice how little sleep you've been getting? How slow your movements have become, how the bags under your eyes get worse every day you go without sleep? I'm not blind.”

Stiles squinted at him. “It's just an Emissary thing.”

“You mean a Flame thing.”

Stiles stood up and faced Derek. “Yeah, a Flame thing. I might've been better at dealing with it if I had known about it.”

Derek winced at the venom in Stiles' voice and backed down uneasily. “I should've told you. I'm sorry.”

“Damn right you should've told me! That I inherited it from my _mother_? That-” Stiles broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn't matter. I'm... I don't blame you. Deaton said that if I found out, I could've freaked out. Still could.” He sighed wearily. “Just. Thanks for last night, for coming over.” He let his tone imply that the conversation was over, and turned back to sit in his chair.

Derek reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face him. “Stiles... We need to talk. About what you said that night.”

Stiles shook his head, looking away, aware that his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. “No, we don't. We really, really don't.”

Derek gave him an unamused look. “Yes, we do.”

“Nope. We can just pretend all of it never happened, and go back to mildly disliking each other.”

“Stiles,” Derek snapped. “You told me you loved me.”

Stiles had that floaty feeling you get when you're dreaming about falling off a tall building. The sickening anticipation of slamming into the ground. “Nope, I didn't. I was lying. I don't love you,” he protested weakly. “I lied.”

He expected Derek to glare at him, or leave, or threaten him. He didn't expect Derek to smile.

Derek stared at Stiles with a look that Stiles couldn't even begin to decipher. He reached out a hand and brushed his fingertips lightly on Stiles' chest, right where his heart was thumping wildly.

Stiles took a step back, bumping into his desk and grabbing the edges, curling his fingers around the edge and trying to tear his eyes away from Derek's.

“That was a lie,” he said, awe-struck, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out, so he shook his head instead. Damn werewolves and their lie-detecting hearing.

Derek took a step closer. “You love me.” His voice was full of wonder, and his smile got wider.

Stiles gave up on lying. “You heard my heartbeat that night. You knew I meant it.”

Derek shook his head. “I thought it was just... heat of the moment.”

Stiles dropped his eyes to the floor. Derek wasn't wearing any shoes. “I wouldn't have said it if you weren't dying.” His voice was fierce and angry. “Don't you get that? I wouldn't have told you, I wouldn't have-” he cut off and focused on the red paint Scott had spilled on his carpet when they were eight. It had never come off.

Derek's hand came up to his chin, and gently pushed it up so Stiles was looking into Derek's eyes. “I know,” he said softly, his eyes tracing his face. “That doesn't mean you didn't mean it.”

“We've kissed, like, twice. _Twice_ , Derek. I can't just say shit like that. I shouldn't be feeling like this.” He yanked his jaw out of Derek's grip and gave him a challenging stare.

“Weren't you in love with Lydia for ten years? Didn't she ignore you that whole time?”

Stiles frowned. “Well, yeah... But that's different.”

“How?” Derek murmured, taking another step forward.

Stiles gripped the desk tighter. He couldn't come up with a convincing argument.

Derek tilted his head slightly. “It's just who you are, Stiles. You love people unconditionally. You stick by people, you get ridiculously attached to them.” He leaned closer and Stiles pressed against the desk. Because Derek was inches away, and all he wanted to do was pull him closer, but he couldn't. He didn't know why, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Derek's eyes flickered across Stiles' face. “You have an annoying habit of getting under my skin. Everything that used to piss me off is just... endearing. I trusted you, before I trusted Scott. Doesn't that mean something?”

Stiles didn't answer, just stared at Derek's mouth, how it was spilling out all of these words that Stiles didn't know Derek had inside him.

“Because when you were holding me up in eight feet of water for two hours, he was reporting everything I did to Gerard. Because I heard what you said after Jackson turned, how you yelled at Scott for using me like he did. Because despite everything, you're still his friend, even though you know it puts you in danger. You still help us, when any sane human being would run the other way.” Derek's eyes flashed red as he pressed against Stiles, so close that they were sharing the same breath. “God, Stiles, you drive me crazy.”

Stiles licked his lips. “You... You're an asshole,” he breathed. “You can't just say shit like that, you bastard.” His voice was breaking, and Derek was right there, so it was the most natural thing in the world to just close the gap.

The light touch of Derek's lips sent shivers down Stiles' spine, but just as he was about to press for more, Derek pulled away.

Stiles looked up at him and frowned. The sliver of doubt in his mind that he wasn't what Derek wanted, that he had pushed at him, that he was misreading the situation flared, sending insecurities running through his mind at the speed of light.

Derek gave him the tiniest smile and cupped his jaw. “Stiles,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across Stiles' cheeks. “I couldn't handle seeing you burning. I can't get the image out of my mind. I can't lose someone else I love.”

Stiles drew in a harsh, shocked breath. “You... You love me?” His voice was broken and quiet, but his eyes were narrowed in a perceptive squint, trying to find the inevitable lie in Derek's words.

Derek grinned. “You're a pain in the ass, and you never shut up, but I do. Jesus, Stiles, something about you just feels... _right_.”

Stiles choked out a strangled laugh and leaned forward so that his forehead was resting on Derek's shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around his neck. “Say it again.”

Derek frowned. “Say what? That I love you?”

“No, that I'm a pain in the ass. _Yes_ , that you love me.”

Derek rested his head on Stiles' neck and breathed in. “I'm all talked out,” he mumbled.

Stiles started laughing. “That _was_ the most I've ever heard you speak. Are you feeling okay? A little light-headed?”

“My throat hurts a little,” Derek admitted with a small smile.

Stiles pushed him away so he could look at him. “Is this too fast?” he asked seriously.

Derek drew him back in for a slow, heated kiss, and ended it too soon. “Stiles, we've been through a lot together. If you wanna go slow, we can go slow. But I think either way, it'll feel natural.”

Stiles grinned and pulled him in for another kiss, this time with a lot more tongue and teeth and biting. “It's my birthday,” he mumbled against Derek's lips. “'M eighteen.”

“I know,” Derek replied, his voice low and grovelly. He put a hand on Stiles' chest and shoved him away gently. “But your father's home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, endings are always rife with uncertainty and low self-confidence on my own abilities, but I really hope this story works out for you guys. Yeah, I made Stiles turn eighteen, because I don't know. Spontaneous decision. Don't forget the comments, guys! I love 'em. I'm thinking up a sequel, right, but as I said before (did I say it before?), you may need to wait a while. I just have some issues to address and a second plot!! Subscribe to the series, I guess? Anyways, love you all!


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